Last Friday
One day, late last week,
Nothing much of memorable consequence happened,
Not to you, anyway.
In fact, so lacking in substance was that Friday,
You still can't recall anything about it,
Other than that, evidently, your spirit went missing,
Or at least you believe so, even now,
Since no evidence that you existed has surfaced
On the data servers surveilling your sector.
Were it not for regional authorities interrogating you,
As to your whereabouts, six days ago,
You wouldn't have given last Friday a passing thought.
But now, you can't keep focused on anything else,
For the metastasizing realization
That you've been noticed, are being monitored —
The distracting, agonizing torment
Accompanying the unabating mortification
Of having become a person of interest, to someone.
10/23/08 - (1)
|