Too Tired
I am tired— like an old dog, like a wind-tattered flag, like a child fighting sleep. My exhaustion has a sui generis, a distinctive fingerprint, easily observable from a distance, and even more easily remedied by anyone other than me. Trees are forever standing and fish are forever swimming. Yet here I’m ready to roll over like an old dog in the summer. From where comes the strength of a fruit fly to live only a single day? From where comes the endurance of a mountain to push through the eons? Maybe I just need more sleep, or something to eat, so I won’t do anything rash and shake off this mortal coil before my time.
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