Sunday Poems 40: Go forth and wander

It’s Pokemon GO week. I haven’t had very much time to go out and be a trainer, but I have a Weedle so I’m pretty happy. Yesterday I was out for a walk and watched three separate people pause in the middle of walking down the sidewalk to point their phone out at the world, spin in a circle, and then flick their finger across the screen. This is the sort of behaviour that I find unsettling and thrilling in pretty much equal measure.

One of the most interesting parts of the game to me is that it chooses where to put its Pokéstops based on landmarks. It seems to shy away from using commercial sites as Pokéstops, which has meant that in my neighbourhood most of these destinations are street art. We have a series of paintings done on electrical boxes telling the history of the neighbourhood, and for the first time, I know the name of these paintings which I walk by every day, thanks to this game sending me there. I will visit “100 Years in the Park” by Colette Richard tomorrow on my way to work to see if there are any Pokémon eggs waiting for me.

Sundays are good days for being woken up by the rain, arms around yourself. It’s coming down outside your window. 7 AM looks like a butty afternoon. You walk down the street to get a coffee which you bring to a friend. They’re working on a lazy day when their workplace should be empty. They are happy to see you. You’re happy to see them. You walk around waiting for their day to finish. You can leave. There’s a cool breeze but the sun is warm. Below is a poem. If you know someone who would like it, pass it on to them. As always, if you need someone to talk to, I’m here. Have a great week, everybody.


you wear a nametag at all times
but it’s not yours.

looking up how to clean
an office chair you found in the alley.

you try to clean everything
with white vinegar.

not spending enough time sitting on the

working in the dark,
hunched over the carpet.

the pen sinks too much
into the soft floor.

he’s asleep beside me,
it’s not that far.

we’ve got work to do
wondering what we’re supposed to be doing.

Originally published July 10, 2016.

Theodore Fox is a poet living on Treaty Six land in Canada.
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