Like a Man Gone Mad: Poems in a New Century

Malaise

105 Malaise It happens when you feel as old as those too old to care how old they are. Bored with everything but breakfast, then sickened by the taste of toast, you take your coffee black— no sugar. This morning’s headlines echo yestermorning’s headlines to the letter. You read no further to remind yourself that news is never new. Each day is not a time to live but time to live through, and then not always as you like. The Germans have a word for this, as do the French, who have a word for everything. But then what difference does it make to give a name to what you feel in two or twenty languages? It’s simply there. It lingers like a stench that worsens by the day until one night, without a word or push from you, 106 it leaves as if it never happened. You wonder if it’s gone for good or if it ever was. Later you come to understand how you were wounded to the point of madness from within, although you stayed the man you are. Compared to visible pain and anguish, this is not unusual. Torturers proficient in the skills of malice have been known to leave their victims broken and babbling but unbloodied and without a scar. ...