Watching It Go

I made the drink this morning,

set the glass down,

walked away.

Twenty minutes later

the ice was almost gone.

A small pool of water

on the counter,

the last corner

of the cube

slowly flattening into nothing.

I stood there watching it.

Watching the final piece

evaporate.

This is what I do.

I start things

and then I don't finish them.

I abandon them

halfway through

and forget

and come back

to find

that they've disappeared

while I wasn't looking.

The ice is gone.

The water is drying.

There will be a ring

on the counter

that I'll wipe away

tomorrow,

or the next day,

or whenever I notice

that something I made

has left a mark

anyway.

I do this all the time.

I set something down

and I forget.

I forget

that things melt.

I forget

that time passes.

I forget

that abandonment

is a kind of decision

too.

The counter is almost dry.

The ring is fading.

And I'm still standing here,

watching something

that's already gone,

learning nothing,

changing nothing,

just watching

the small evidence

of my inattention

disappear.