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
            the eye
            can’t be trusted with
            is measured &
            that’s the end of it.
Because a machine rips away night & day like the Allis Chalmers
            tractor where
            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.