walk through a parking
lot, mountains in
the distance ahead
of me, mountains
under unfathomable gallons
of ocean behind me.
talk with a man
i only ever knew
as a teenager,
and i disappear.
return to the gasp
that i currently inhabit,
look at parcels of
for-sale land,
in a state many thousands
of miles away,
and i disappear.
in that same
parking lot, the one
with the grown up
teenaged man,
men sit
in ragged pickup trucks
and vagabond vans,
sit in these stolid
vehicles in the evening,
prodding the air for
their disappeared.
they pick up
unseen signals in the air,
concentrate them
into small electronic devices
held gently in their hands,
and they further disappear.
i plug my ears
with audio device and
listen to people
i’ve never met have
conversations about things
i once found interesting,
and i disappear.
a text or two.
an email.
a conversation with
a strange man
in Washington State,
a vendor
of dried tart cherries
i use to create
an energy bar that i
make, package, label,
and hope
they disappear.
i want to believe
i am doing ok
with it.
do you enjoy
everything that goes
with it?
is the social
part of it
ok? do i
expand and
contract and
slough and
peel and,
disappear?
zakschafer.com 