I always wanted to live
in a monastery.
I could ring the bells:
signaling prayer, meals, and reflection.
Trading Jowett’s Jig for single tones,
I would pay my rent
in pearls of wisdom.
Concerns of capital consigned to oblivion,
my checkbook checked at the door.
The hour now approaches, steadfast in its passage through time’s coffee filter.
The minutes dripping on my receding hairline.
Lamentations of daily woes, like shampoo, melt away the fine tufts on my head.
I would much prefer cloistered contemplation.
The world offers only stress,
but the ethereal offers a hidden companion.
I want to live in a monastery,
so I can finally be at peace.
But it will have to do:
my clock and me.
Lewis Smith is a junior computer science major and mathematics minor at Missouri State University. Although not pursuing a degree in creative writing or English, he has an avid interest in poetry, essays, and postmodernist fiction. He frequently writes on topics such as midwestern living, social issues, politics, and film.