1I am sitting alone in my room

and staring up at the ceiling fan,

spinning around wildly,

taking me with it,

carrying me as if I was

insignificant as a pile of dust,

whirling helter-skelter

as if I had nothing better to do.

I could be in the garden,

contemplating the miracle of life,

or in the city,

discovering my real identity.

I could even be in a lab somewhere,

studying mice and wondering

why God could let cancer kill

innocent scurrying creatures.

But instead, I’m here alone,

sitting in a windowless room

and wondering why God doesn’t let

a ceiling fan spin faster.