getting older [day 2 - p. a]

1.
as a child, missing school,
i'd think about my empty classroom desk,
feeling something like guilt or sadness.
instead of being there, i was someone somewhere
else, watching cable at the neighbor's house
so many channels i kept losing
the movie about a girl witch
and eating pasta from a can
in the air conditioning,
even children want to change
their hearts and bodies.

2.
after a long day in the high vent lighting, wording things just so,
looking at people just so, not looking, at anybody,
it's time to go home, the sun is gone, i am no longer curious.
i have to walk myself through the heat of the air
with the nothing duty of a nothing soldier--
i am full of ongoing unspoken promises to keep.
the dishes in my sink, the coffee
I'm going to buy, the papers on a desk,
the food always waiting
at my mother's table. i keep showing up.
i am keeping to a plan i heard nothing about, i'm signing the cross
the father, the son, the holy spirit
as if i went to mass and knew each pause,
i am whispering unintelligible promises.
when i come home and the lights aren't on
and i open the fridge and know what is in there
what i thought and planned to buy, and did,
i take out a can or bottle of beer
and it opens with a soft hiss,
or a bubbling sigh, i know
that i am older, now, and i drink
what no longer tastes bitter to me.