The Scheduled Interruption

I was sitting on the porch,

trying to hold a thought,

when the spray came on.

Not gently.

Not waiting.

The head rose up and unleashed

everything at once—

the shock,

the violence,

the moment I'd sought

completely destroyed.

The system doesn't care about my moment.

The system has a schedule.

The system is operating

on its own clock,

indifferent to what I sought,

to whether I needed

another minute,

another chance,

another shot.

I stood up soaked.

The water dripped from my hair,

my clothes,

the thoughts I'd been trying

to keep intact.

I watched the spray,

the way the water came down

like rain that knew where it was going,

like something with purpose,

like something that came

without asking.

The sprinkler system works

whether you're ready or not.

It works

whether you're sitting there,

fragile and half-formed,

trying to be whole.

It just comes.

It just waters the grass

and takes everything else with it.