Every Day

Summary

The text reflects on the daily struggle with recurring worries and the monotony of life during a pandemic, portraying a sense of despair and the search for hope amidst a cycle of repetitive thoughts.

Abstract

The poem "Every Day" by Jonathan Greene delves into the relentless cycle of daily life, where each day brings a new worry or plan encapsulated in thought bubbles. These thoughts, once exposed, leave the speaker in a state of uncertainty, picking up either happy or distressing messages. The poem conveys a sense of entrapment in a thought loop, where worries are recycled, and the future seems bleak. The speaker feels reduced to mere particles of a former self, pushed aimlessly from room to room, reflecting a loss of purpose and vitality. The global pandemic context is evident, with masks outside serving as a stark reminder of the new reality. The speaker's lack of enthusiasm and sheen is palpable, as they describe themselves as a "dumbed-down version of a flatline." The poem concludes with a fear that the horizon, like the setting sun, might abandon them, leaving them in a perpetual twilight of uncertainty.

Opinions

The speaker views their daily thoughts as unhelpful and intrusive, akin to negative "fortune cookies."
There is a sense of frustration and helplessness in the face of an endless cycle of worries.
The poem suggests that the pandemic has exacerbated feelings of paranoia and negativity.
The speaker feels that their once vibrant life has been reduced to a mundane existence, devoid of sparkle or "sheen."
The imagery of a bubble bath with "filthy" thoughts implies a sense of self-disgust or dissatisfaction with the current state of mind.
The speaker expresses a fear of abandonment by the horizon, symbolizing a loss of hope or future prospects.

A Poem

Every day a different thought bubble pops and exposes a new worry and/or plan and as I watch them fall to the ground these tiny pieces of paper, hidden in a bubble, I wonder if I will pick up a happy one or a sad one Or maybe a scared one, or a really morbid one My brain leaves me with fortune cookies to exorcise my own inner demons, typed crookedly on a small piece of paper, and it isn’t helping. Nothing is.

Every day is a verified thought loop a reformulation of an earlier worry, shocked to have been recycled so quickly but somehow very showy in my face as if I wanted another death harbinger here today to tell me that there is no future, that this is it an endless track around my living room highlighted by climbing the stairs and doing push-ups in the corner next to all of the errant dog hair

Ashes to ashes, dust to dust is just a personification of my daily routine because that’s all I am right now Particles of what was formerly a full human being and now is just matter being pushed from room to room I’d love to think it’s just my negative outlook, but even I know that’s not true and even if I try to blame this whole pandemic on my overactive imagination and high sense of paranoia all I have to do is look outside and see every person wearing a mask as if I’d been transported to some Netflix show about a virus gone wild, in a cul-de-sac

Every day, no hustle, no grind No bustle, no mind. I am lackluster as in, lacking lustre, I have no sheen I am a dumbed-down version of a flatline because I can’t even do that right and this is what I was talking about The thought bubbles popping and dropping their generic messages into my lap telling me things will get better and everything will be ok until my bubbles get mixed in, a bubble bath, but a dirty one because my thoughts are filthy and every day I watch them pop above me and fall to the ground, just so I can pick them up and read them to myself and realize that this isn’t a dream, this is real life and the horizon is walking away as if it has better things to do this evening than gently let the sun drop out of sight I’m actually scared it might not return

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