Wisdom

In the present, there are no problems.

That’s what the wise people say.

So no one invites the wise people

To parties anymore.

It’s doubtful they would come anyway,

Unless at the moment of decision

The thing that seemed most natural

Was putting on a coat,

And moments later they were seized

With an unaccountable urge

To open the door of their apartment –

And so on, ad nauseum.

For normal people, meanwhile,

The present is never just itself.

It always arrives in a false mustache,

Crudely impersonating the past,

Or smuggling in the future

In the hollow heel of its boot.

It’s always telling a lengthy story

That turns out to be pointless,

Or making some prognostication

That turns out to be wrong.

It’s always hitting on the hostess

But never sealing the deal,

Or vomiting all over the furniture,

Sick from a drink you never saw it take.

In short, it’s a nightmare party guest,

But at least it shows up at all,

Unlike those wise people you stopped inviting,

Who are off somewhere being authentic,

Living in something they call “the moment” –

Forever putting on and taking off coats.