sitting pretty.

i've tried so hard
and yet, i find myself back
in the same old place i've been since
before the beginning.
digging in boxes, finding a postcard
and remembering an old wisecrack;
my mind reels thinking of all the hints
i've projected this inning.
i've become midnight's guard,
as faithful and constant as night's darkest black.
standing quietly while the jealousy ferments,
wishing it were me, not you, always grinning.
the same live show in which i've starred
for so long -- surviving audition and callback,
only to be met with everlasting suspense.
caught in a neverending vortex. still skinning
the same potatoes picked from the yard.
still staring at suitcases but never needing to pack.
still trying to relax but just feeling more tense.
a miracle, if i come out on the other side unscarred.
no more early starts just to whip up a snack.
i'll finally see all the sights and smell all the scents
and realize that, at last, i am truly winning.