THINGS TO WORRY ABOUT
I worry about my head. I worry: Is it June
or is it December? I worry whether the stress
on my brain is greater when the moon
waxes or when it wanes. I howl. I obsess
about everything: cracks in the sidewalk, a snake
in the grass. Sneakers or boots? It's never moot
whether we come or go, eat bread or eat cake.
Life's little -ifuls (merc, bount-, beaut-)
are no tethers to keep me secure. Did Garbo
never get to be alone? And if the play
is the thing, what's not? From Cairo to Hobo-
ken, my anxious nose sniffs, sniffs: Is day
better than night? Jeans with this or rhinestones?
And those terrorists. And perfume or cologne?