On the Persistent Inability to Anticipate What Just Happened

Say the present if you want,

The future if you insist.

Stay here ongoing. On, on

Earth as it is in orbit.

Sometimes you’ve guessed most of it.

Usually, at least a bit,

Never all. Never all of

What just was, swerves and details,

Unexpected decisions.

You organize what you can,

Stake your arcs and boundaries.

Here’s what’s important today.

The issues, tasks, and people

You most value. You track them

As close as you can. You dodge

Or swallow up the details

That come at you from nowhere,

That already came at you

By the time you’ve noticed them,

The past, the most recent past.

Sitting in a parking lot

With unanticipated

Time to spare, watching a man

You’d have never imagined,

Ordinary as he is,

Pacing a porch, conversing

Through his hands-free phone headset

To someone presumably

Far away, you catch yourself

Remembering the summer

You were eight, or trying to

Remember—surprised, despite

The memories fore and aft,

You’ve got nothing from that span.

You could describe where you lived,

Your family members then,

But can’t recall a single

Episode of all those days,

Not anything that happened.

Even older pasts turn out

To be voids, unexpected.

It’s time for your appointment.