The rites of passage
.
This morning,
I turned the house upside down
looking for my reading glasses.
I looked in every room: behind
every cushion, under every chair,
in every drawer and on every shelf.
Along the way, I cursed the table
in the hallway, my bicycle, my bed,
the laundry basket, my cellphone,
the passage of time, the years
of futility, the failed relationships,
the sadness of things and
ultimately, my very own existence;
before I eventually found them
in my bathrobe pocket and did
a little dance.
