The World Is A Bleeding Distance Poem by Chris G. Vaillancourt

The world is a bleeding distance. I forget that
the laundry needs to be folded and the dishes

in the sink need doing. Phone calls are wanted
and the kids need new shoes. Still the world

is a bleeding distance that demands attention
to the important matter of existing. Sometimes

I take myself for a walk, this is my 'getting
away from it all'. My time of resistance to the

mundane same-ness of the electric rocking
and rolling of the performance. Two doors

away the grass wants cutting. Strands of promises
that neatness counts and conformity is required.

A cat waits in the tall grass inching its way towards
an unsuspecting bird. Window of the house not cluttered

with the bother of a curtain so anybody walking
by is allowed to see the occupant sitting in

his underwear needing a shave. A cigarette
dangles from his lips, the ashes flittering on

his chest. He once had daring plans to escape
to a secret island where grass could grow

as long as it desired. The corner store at the
end of the block is not the meeting place it

was in history. Now it is all neon signs and bargains,
and a teenage girl cracking her gum vaguely

bored by conversation. Her computer skills
more valued than her mind. Proud graduate

of the indulgence of her parents guilt. Eyes
forever glazed and indifferent to the hope

of any other searcher of truth. I stop her
daydreaming long enough for her to pretend

she was deeply concerned that I would have
a good day. Purchase my addiction with as

much commitment as a melodramatic bore.
The world is a bleeding distance that wants

only survival and sacrifice.Sometimes I pretend
that I can actually stop playing long enough to

really listen to the scattered fragments of a
conversation.But who has time? The chores

need attention and the neighbours don't care
anyway. The wife is concerned that the bills

are all paid, and the grass is cut, and the dishes
are washed, and the laundry is folded, and the

kids are bathed, and life goes on in a blur
of importance. I realize that my biggest

ambition is to move two doors down and
sit in my underwear smoking a cigarette

letting the grass grow as long as it cares to.
Once in awhile I will motivate myself enough

to go the corner store to share the bored
vagueness of the teenager. The world is a

bleeding distance that waits patiently for
a band-aide. It oozes defeat and resentment.