I have been thinking about obsessions lately.
How everyone has them, how some come and go.
I remember the year my dad became obsessed with his weight.
He would stand on the scale several times a day,
and if he didn’t like the reading,
he’d step off. Then, holding onto the towel bars,
he’d lower himself slowly, slowly down
again. If that didn’t work, he might stomp on it,
kick it, or bend down to readjust the settings.
Or buy a new scale.
These techniques he described as readjusting.
Readjusting what? I'd ask.
The zeros, he'd answer.
Every now and again, the zeros need a little fixing.
You need to set them just so.
This week’s poem: Return of the Grievous Angel
4 hours ago