I philosophize too much,
even when washing my hands,
contemplating, like Saint Francis does a skull,
the healing and cleansing properties of soap,
reducing my reflection to its bare essentials
until distilled to only the elements of soap,
potassium fatty acid salts,
and I’m back to chemical properties—
No mind-body problem there.

Should’ve been a priest
(at least the wine is free),
but I’m not, because
people I love say religion
is more lethal than heroin.
Accept nonacceptance, they say.
Except for acceptance? I ask.

There has never been
salvation for me from the
who-carers-so-whaters-how-theners,
so I’ll find my own
though I haven’t got
the subway fare and
the Man is at the turnstile
knowing what I’m thinking.

But I’m cooler dying on the run
than lying watching the race;
and if I don’t seem to know
what I’m talking about
at the starting line,
ask me at the finish line,
when I get there way before you,
or maybe you’ll run
in the other direction,
and either way I’ll have
plenty time to think you over.

– Philip Vassallo

Author’s Note: While “Thinking” is my 135th published poem, it is the first one I ever wrote, although I revised it significantly before submitting it. Like much of my writing, this poem seeks to balance the metaphysical and the practical aspects of human experience.