(Lines on Derren Brown's Lottery Stunt)
The magician reveling in
his tricks made me think:
what if he's right,
life is nothing other
than iterated
functions, endlessly
repeated? I thought of
my mother's fear that
she will follow hers
through lonely dementia,
losing faces like
buttons from an old
sofa, before her
obsessions take her over,
shuffling cold, unrecognising
from room to room.
I can see a defense
in the straight lines
of her life, there
to stop the inevitable.
Maths aside, I know
the straight lines achieve
nothing in the end,
yet I see them tied
through my life
just as tightly.
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