There is an App
that will tell me
the number of days
between now and a given date
should I ever need to ask,
so with rugged regularity
I drag it open
and I ask it, “App,
how long has it been
since May First?”
and the App,
as it is with such things
will spring forth with an answer
which is usually just a day or two more
than the last time I’d asked.

It’s very much like looking at the clock
every five minutes
expecting somehow
for a change far beyond the obvious.

I don’t know what I expect from the days
other than their durable passage
just escaping me,
one by one,
one after the other,
ad infinitum,
ad nauseum.

Now, I await life,
passive, come what may.
For any chance of change I pray.
This is all I deserve, I think,
since the events of May,
when anger held sway,
and I watched you walk away.