Why You Spend So Much Time At The Curling Rink
Because someone’s paid to keep the lines
clean, the surface pebbled.
Because if any doubt lingers, a long pole
is lifted from its hook & the thorny thing
can’t be trusted with
is measured &
that’s the end of it.
Because a machine rips away night & day like the Allis Chalmers
you came from.
Because you’ll never return there again.
Because all that glass makes it much like being inside television.
Because the lounge is papered in plaques, players worth remembering
& good citizens.
Because old Sandy rents brushes for free & bellows to no one
in particular, “let the good times roll!”
Because of the paneling.
Because of anti-futurism (don’t let the new
brushes fool you, corn brooms have ghosts).
Because the eye holds no
final sway, there.