I do not know what exactly
defines a ‘hobby’ – things
hardly ever spark any detectable sliver of joy
in me
my elders always
warned me
not to climb
trees at twilight
I envy cigarette smokers.
They take more fresh air breaks than anyone,
a drop embedded
in the half-opened bud—
winter morning
My dad always spoke to our mailmen
Regardless of where we moved,
Or the time of their route.
Everything is dialectics.
And dialectics are confusing.
How different the sound and pressure feel
Crushing coffee beans, ice cubes and millipedes beneath a rubber soul.