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The Twins Paradox

Neil D. Mulac

I am never in the same place
for more than
a few
        moments.

Tonight after picking up Chinese takeout,
I passed through the double doors
and onto New York City’s
Upper Westside.
Crowded stuffy concrete capillaries of faceless wonders
in the late Sunday spring dusk.
This place is too viscous.

I am never in the same place
for more than
a few
moments.

By the time I
step onto the sidewalk
I am pulled to Chicago,
Wrigleyville.
Two blocks away from an old love’s unadorned loft,
and one block from the muggy Red Line

I can hear Cubs fans
in the distance
and a muffled announcer naming batters.
But I’m not really there
I don’t like past times.

I am never in the same place
for more than
a few
moments.

Once inside my studio
I settle down to eat
at my one chair table.
All nestled here
in this one too many horse town,
restless in space and mind but hungry
enough to stay focused on this ground,
full of steamy fried rice and spring rolls.

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