This poem was a dash, from the conception of the idea to the final product, knowing that in five minutes I’ll be busy with another project then leaving the house for a meeting then going to another meeting is the race that my retired life has become.

The idea that a poet’s job is to take the crazy commotion of a life and re-frame that life into meaning, something interesting and memorable, something that gives the brief time spent with the poem some richness, something worth spending some time reading, that idea could take a poem a hundred a thousand a million ways.

So I took the parts of my day combined with other days and future days and as some say, Bob’s your uncle.

There is some poetic flare here, some rhyme, a rhythm if the poem is read out loud, a form that seems to have little form except for line breaks made simply for length’s sake, which was part of the reason, but I give such things a lot of consideration, though each break’s reason is pretty vague looking back.

Alas, even this post-write analysis must be a dash. Off to other things.