Patrick Whitfill



That the dimmer in the kitchen works is proof
that the implausible will masquerade
as the mundane. The trick, here, rests on the weight
of the fluorescent inside the light, the poof
of it all mixing up and separating.
This happens all at once, which, yes, is just
another way of saying nothing worse
has happened. Nothing better. Permeate,
then replicate. But in that repetition,
a boredom. Someone, you, makes oatmeal.
I turn the dimmer all the way to off,
as if it mattered. Listen:  outside, pawpaws
have started dawdling, gorged on sun. If you watch,           
you’ll see the light of them go out where they fall. 






If I had the intelligence for it, I think I'd be a scientist, maybe a physicist. I don't, so I have to figure things out in poems. Two books, though, that I think everyone interested in science/tech/physics should read:  Michio Kaku's The Physics of the Future, and Robert Zubrin's The Case for Mars. Cool things in there.