SPITBALL by Eloise Klein Healy

Physicists speculate that when you leave a place,
a party, say, there are at least two universes where you go.
In one scenario, for example, you’re a dog groomer.
In another, a free-agent spitball pitcher
who has gone back to Wichita to visit your family, circa 1982.
Neither of you returns to the party. Those two roads diverged
and kept on diverging. One’s a north-south polar orbit
for a military satellite and one’s the busiest freeway interchange
in the United States, a sweeping wing of rebar and concrete
hurling vehicles along a wicked curve toward LAX.

In either case, the party scene is basically over

for you. How many parties can one person

experience in this universe and any other ones?

How many pieces of celery can a single hand drag-bunt

across infinite varieties of soulfully flavored dip mixtures?

Wherever you are, it’s time to go outside

for a breath of fresh air. There’s a lingering whiff

of clover, and across the street from the party

some scruffy Standard Poodles are chasing each other 

in an Astro-turfed yard. Your moistened fingertips

find the car key in the pocket of your dog-hair dusted coat.

Nobody is going to miss you if you go.

@1 year ago with 1 note
#eloise klein healy #poetry #poem 
  1. hundredacrehood posted this