I see my right hand
reach
across to,
and down
into
the small plastic box from Clas Ohlson,
lifting out the glasses
that have been stored for the night
among the medicines

I really don't want to go through this

Somewhat later I observe,
standing barefoot
down in the kitchen,
with the cat around my legs,
meowing to promote his own case,
how my hands,
at the ends of my arms,
in cooperation with my eyes, my balance
et cetera,
select the usual components for breakfast,
pouring them in suitable amounts
into an orange porcelain bowl:

oat flakes / sunflower seeds / pumkin seeds / sesame seeds /
raisins / apricots / almonds / cowberries

- which this here anatomy,
always flatly familiar and keenly surprising,
balances up the stairs to the bedroom,
with a liter of fridge-cool oat milk;
all initially being placed on the minimal relief surface
of the bedside table to the right,
until the body, under my zombie-like supervision,
settles on the bed, back against the wall,
knees folded;
the protective towel spread across the chest/stomach
- where the hands then place the breakfast bowl,
for the transfer of nutrients from it,
into the mouth,
located just below the perceived position
of my observation

I really don't want to go through this

After the intake of nutrients,
the body makes the usual descent
back down the stairs to the kitchen,
where it encounters the same cat,
which, imitating itself, meows
to promote his own case,
while this here body, attentively observed
from just behind/above the bridge of the nose,
pours an improvised amount of powdered coffee
into a mug,
adding hot water from the kettle,
whereupon the mug is balanced up to the bedroom
on the pair of bare feet
that constitute the smooth conclusion
of the lower extremities

The right hand soon lifts the mug,
and tilts it just right
to have the coffee fluid flow
into the oral cavity,
to be swallowed down the esophagus,
soon to influence the body's perception
of the state of the world
as well as its own intelligence

I really don't want to go through this

The washing machine is spinning
down in the hallway;:
a bird pecks on the roof;
a snowplow grates roughly
out on the Norbäck country road

The left hand (as seen from up in the eyes)
holds the notebook,
while the right hand jots down this jeremiad

I really don't want to go through this

The body notes
that the golden wristwatch
bestowed by the Police Authority
back in 2016
for ”diligence & integrity in the service of the state”
after many years as a civilian crime investigator
and an interrogator,
causes itching in the wrist area,
so rises from the bed,
goes to the bathroom
over on the farthest side of the upper hallway,
without a word,
and cuts a couple of strips of Band-Aid,
which it applies around the wrist,
letting the wristwatch regain its grip
on the celestial mechanics of the day

I really don't want to go through this

The body sips a refill of strong black,
puts the mug away on the bedside table
and lifts Yi-Fu Tuan's Space & Place,
the Perspective of Experience,
letting the eyes continue
where they left off,
on page fourteen

I really don't want to go through this

The dryer hums, roars and groans
down there

I really don't want to go through this