It's Still Life

Draft – Up & Up for Miz Quickly

The Unwritten Rules of Repetition

I was adrift
in my own story
but that’s what children do.
Draft themselves
into an idea
and run with it as if those ideas
are playmates.
I lost that ability
to slip in and out of self-indulgence,
the owner of my own
centre. My universe.
And I’m not sure when the rules changed;
when getting shot
meant you died.
A President was shot when I was a child
but there was always
someone getting shot on TV.
The Lone Ranger shot someone every weekday
at 4 o’clock — so I focused
on other stuff, on new shoes
for school, on a yellow #2 pencil, a ruler,
on a new lunchbox
without dents —
the complex sensibilities of childhood.
And I read to Mum
while she cooked dinner.
Sat on a wooden stool too high to climb
without assistance.
I sat and read
and read, and became afraid of heights.
Brown shoes,
always another pair
of brown shoes in September. But each pair
of brown shoes was
different some how,
the way a signature looks different
in blue ink
or black ink
or red ink.
The President’s brother was shot, too.
Repetition is best left to train schedules.