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When the Novelty Wears Off

Blinds wide open.

Morning Sky,

fresh from a good night’s rest,

looks in at me.

Words tap me on the shoulder

ready to play.

Barely awake,

without water yet to drink,

I listen and repeat the words I heard,

"What happens when the novelty wears off?”

and again

“What happens when the novelty wear off?”

Water, pen, and paper found,

the rest of the words flow forth…

What happens when the novelty wears off?

This novel thing.

This thing too brand new.

This thing in its infancy

crying out to us

that it is here.


unusual in interesting ways,

all the rage,


we become weary


it continues to be


I pause,

sipping hot lemon water,

looking out the window.

Birds morning chirps go


By dogs walking people with

earphones stuffed in their ears.

What happens when the novelty wears off


what was new gets old


what was new is still novel


we don't know what to do with it


does it know what to do with us?

At first

new is nifty

and sometimes scary.

New is all the rage

until sometimes enraged

our insides holler,

"Enough already!"

The ink, not yet dry.

The pages of this novel’s moment

not fully written,

This new kid on the block

still demanding attention,

What happens when the novelty wears off

but this brand new thing keeps emerging?

The virtue of patience breached,

like a whale leaping from oceans depths

puncturing the air above,

there is a moment where

novelty becomes normality.

Excitement wanes.

Boredom yawns.

Fear tires.

Impatience wins.

Numbness wears off

what shock

had anesthetized.

This thing,

still novel,

still there,

no longer new,

moves forward with us

Our focus shifts.

What it was born to do continues.

My hot lemon water now cold.

Tea lights burned to their quick.

Palo santo incense twirled unnoticed.

Morning Sky shines brighter.

Birds sing out this new dawn’s chorus.


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