Wipers

Photo by Charlie Deets on Unsplash

I’ve already forgotten
The wave of inspiration,
The brilliant idea
That interrupted me.

I was ironing or something
Maybe sitting on a train,
There’s always so much going on
None of it means anything.

It’s just those things we do
Like wipers on a windscreen,
Always changing their direction
In a perpetual losing battle.

On someone else’s journey
Not even passengers,
Fooling ourselves into thinking
Any of this matters.