He would win the Nobel Prize
For his contributions to the origin of the universe,
But first,
His wife needs him to fix a leaky faucet.
He has to go to the hardware store.
So frustrating,
So many interruptions,
Right when his calculations begin to coalesce,
When they begin to speak.
But first,
His wife needs him to remove his laundry
From the washer
To make room for her clothing.
Then the cat barfs on the rug in his den,
Which makes him jurisdictionally responsible
For the cleanup.
Now his coffee is cold,
And his stomach is rumbling because he forgot to eat,
Being seized by an idea,
The idea,
Perhaps the missing piece of the cosmological puzzle.
But first,
His chatty neighbor is ringing the doorbell.
She’s brought a bag of homegrown tomatoes
And quickly engages his wife in inane conversation,
Focused on her observations
Of the meaningless exploits of the neighbors.
She rambles on in exhausting detail.
He retreats to his den,
Having second thoughts about working from home.
Since he does not require a laboratory for his work,
It seemed like a good idea,
At first.
Now, back to his theorem,
The missing piece,
It seemed like such an obvious idea,
Once it broke through the maze of spurious speculations.
O yes, the missing piece,
The solution.
“Oh God,” he cries out,
Suddenly realizing he forgot to write it down.
His deep despair suddenly startled
By the frantic ringing of the landline.
His wife will not answer the phone.
She never answers the phone,
Even though it’s usually someone for her.
She’s busy playing the piano,
Reproducing classical pieces in fits and starts,
Repeating difficult passages over and over.
He answers the phone.
The sunlight begins to dim.
His intellectual energy begins to wane.
Perhaps it would be best to close his notebooks,
Wait until tomorrow and get an early start.
With a good night’s sleep
Perhaps the idea will once again reveal itself.
And besides,
It’s nearly time to walk the dog.
~ Russ Allison Loar
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