JON DAVIS | "INTENTION"

Intention is a stuck gear, a starter that requires a hammer. Intention is a bottle of cheap Cava that won’t open until it does, spewing the window and a shelf full of your favorite cookbooks. Intention is shaky on heels, too loud in cowboy boots. Intention snoozes under a sleep mask, keeps its ears plugged tight. Intention gets everything wrong— the pitch of the roof, the depth of the channel, the distance down the left field line. Intention is an ark for one of each species. It’s a tunnel that turns out to be a cave. Intention meant to marry you but widowed you instead. Intention swings at the low outside slider every time. Intention won’t wear its helmet, its elbow and knee pads. Intention tries to hit that impossible high note and squeals instead. Intention is writing its dissertation on The Concept of Economic Fatalism in the Lesser Writings of F. Scott Fitzgerald. Intention knows nothing, is cocksure about everything. Intention is a watering can meeting a Galapagos tortoise on the floor of an automobile showroom. Intention won’t ever sit still. It bursts into meetings with a list of demands. Intention is a poisonous snake that you recognize too late. It’s a long slow ride to the wrong hospital.