By John Grey
Enough is enough. It’s also a strip mall
where the woods used to be. And
a housing estate that doesn’t know from
cornfields. And people are indifferent.
While they sleep, the big box store
is chewing up the pond. Everything’s cheap,
they boast but I remember what my mother
said about cheap women. And now enough
is more than enough. The mill’s now condos.
City people buy them for their weekend getaways.
Main Street on weekends is clogged with BMW’s.
Then it’s Monday and a tumbleweed rolling by
the deserted coffee house would not surprise.
Dictionary says enough is “in a tolerable degree.”
Of course, we tolerate it. Fast food and a
kid’s playground. Second hand book store shuttered.
Like those in the path of lava tolerate volcanoes.
The past just isn’t tough enough. The future’s
either injecting itself with steroids or it
comes with its own army of lawyers and accountants.
Enough also means satisfied so enough is less
than enough. Any more progress and enough
will dwindle down to nothing. Once this town
was different from the next one and the next.
Now, they’re all the same. Any more the same
and that would be enough already.
John Grey is an Australian poet, U.S. resident. Recently published in Examined Life Journal, Evening Street Review and Columbia Review with work upcoming in Harpur Palate, Poetry East and Midwest Quarterly.