Wayside Hermit’s Midnight Workshop

If we offered you an end
To worrying or yawning—
Not to pain or the knowledge

Of certain death, not to risk
Of harm from other people,
But to fretting and boredom—

If we could offer you that,
And credibly, would you not
Be eager to read further?

We can’t, so leave us alone.
We’ve been working half the night,
And we’ve solved the boredom part,

If you don’t count the yawning
From exhaustion. But we can’t
Get a grip on worrying,

Which is the harder problem.
There are distractions that work,
But they’re like city planners

Who shut down red-light districts
And sweep away the homeless—
You enjoy their pretty parks,

But the whole problem’s just been
Moved the other side of town,
Where it’s only getting worse.

We don’t trust monks anymore.
We’ve seen their abrupt breakdowns,
Their factional politics.

They can sit, chant, spin, or pray
All hours of the day. They’re beasts
With brains, and stray thoughts will stray.

It’s something to do with time.
We’re pretty sure now of that.
Time with a lack of people,

Supplies for the animal
As for any animal,
But emptiness for the thoughts.

But where it is we come in
Or how we help this happen,
This external solution

To internal dilemmas,
We can never figure out.
If we could bottle the peace

And calm as our recipe
And distribute it for sale,
We’d never have to worry.