Got a Minute?
Sometimes, I imagine myself
a pharaoh past his prime, wrapped up
like a birthday present beneath
a pyramid of wasted years,
dick and riches utterly useless.
And I often find myself paralyzed
at grocery stores, paranoid past absurdity,
considering possibilities of last-minute guests
and midnight cravings, carrying away
bags of unjustifiable excess. It makes me
want to charge out the automatic doors and hide –
but where? I bruise easily, and I’ve resigned
to climb only smaller, more manageable trees.
Not only that, but the stones I throw won’t skip,
and I refuse to believe “it’s all in the wrist.”
Say, have we decided what protocol is
for handling the homeless man who
interrupts our conversations with gimmicks,
seeking a few coins or cigarettes? Wait,
don’t go. Tell me I’ve made myself clear.
Tell me you at least understand there’s no guilt
like the guilt over wasted produce.
| Justin Davis |
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levelheaded: Got a Minute?
At first, we understand the pharaoh in the early lines of this poem to be dead and mummified (hence “wrapped up / like a birthday present”), but this isn’t necessarily the case. His pyramid is “of wasted years,” not blocks of stone. There is the potential for the pharaoh’s life to be fully wasted, but there is also a possibility that the pharaoh and, by proxy, the speaker will recognize his “pyramid of wasted years” and make a change. But this kind of transformation isn’t at the core of the poem. In fact, the speaker doesn’t consciously recognize that his monologue – the discourse of someone “paranoid past absurdity” – could have a transformative effect on his worldview. Nevertheless, by “considering [the innocuous] possibilities of last-minute guests” and by using a happy “birthday present” to imagine a mummified pharaoh, the speaker admits it’s not all bad.
In some ways, worry is simply the lens through which the speaker appreciates his surroundings. Take the poem’s final lines: “Tell me you at least understand there’s no guilt / like the guilt over wasted produce.” On one hand these lines say, “One feels they’re guiltiest when their fruits and veggies go to waste.” On another hand they say, “The guilt one feels over wasted fruits and veggies is a unique kind of guilt, exclusive to the waste of fruits and veggies.” This is a beautiful concept, even when applied to something like guilt. The speaker recognizes that each time a moment passes, it is gone forever. The speaker pleads with us (“Tell me I’ve made myself clear. / Tell me you at least understand […]”) to get his message, which turns out to be a convoluted variation of “carpe diem.”
Even if this speaker cannot actively set aside his worry and recognize a potential for good (or not all bad), he does occupy himself with “protocol,” allowing for some control over situations in which he initially seems helpless. By developing a controlled reaction to potential events, a “protocol,” the speaker could control “the homeless man who / interrupts our conversations with gimmicks.” By extension, he could stop his guests from “carrying away / bags of unjustifiable excess.” He could make sure his “dick and riches” are not “utterly useless.” For the speaker, worrying is the first step of a protocol in reaction to everything. It’s heartening that the speaker doesn’t wait for an answer to the poem’s title question. He just begins talking – reacting – to the world.
– The Editors
