Steve Huff

Of course there's an afterlife, and one
after that, and another, etc., until the afterlives
circle eternity to become the life
you lived before this one, making this one
an afterlife too. No wonder you sleep late,
trying to avoid the little tasks and obligations,
the aches and pains that make up yesterday's afterlife
which is, of course, today's present.
There's no avoiding that. Though your head
aches to think of it, and you'd rather
linger by the window with your coffee
watching the neighbor's dog chase its tail.
Still, you can't help thinking that maybe
the present is just a beach on which all our yesterdays
have washed up, hollow and resounding.
But resounding with what? This will get you
nowhere, you think and go back
for another cup, though it occurs to you
that you've done this all before too—
not only the cup of coffee you just drank,
but all the coffees on all those other mornings...
Now you're back where you started,
and your head aches again, and you want
nothing but to sit there peacefully in the window
watching the neighbor's dog chase its tail
never really catching it, yet never giving up.