Mission Impossible

The ad said this film is only in theaters.
As if that made it rare—
a fleeting moment you must chase
before it vanishes.

But I’ve lived long enough to know:
in a month, maybe two,
it will arrive quietly—
on streaming,
on disc,
on demand—
at your fingertips,
on your terms.
Everywhere—except the theater.

A year from now, it’ll play on TBS—
every other Sunday, spliced
with enough commercials
and edits to make it
feel like a new movie.
I watched The Mummy with Tom Cruise
three times on t.v. this month
for free. It was just on—
it's low glow beaconing me.

Isn’t that how it goes?
The urgent becomes ordinary.
The rare becomes routine.
The ephemeral becomes inevitable. 
Even the spectacular comes home,
if you wait long enough.

You could rush now—
press in with the crowds,
pay more
for the shallow high
of being first to feel
what hasn’t had time
to mean something yet.

Because every day,
something is billed
as only in theaters.
But nothing stays
exclusive forever.
Everything is mine
with enough time.

So I’m in no fucking hurry.
I could wait a century
for something I want.
Let it ache a little.
Let it burn low.
Let it lie covert.
Let it shyly unfurl.
Let it come to and for you—
Wherever you are.

Things meant to be
don’t beg to be rushed.
They unfold
when the moment is easy,
when the rhythm is right.