Sleight Of Hand

Routine was the theme
He’d wake up, wash and pour himself into uniform
Something he hadn’t imagined being
As the merging traffic passed
He found himself staring down
At his own hands
Not remembering the change
Not recalling the plan
Was it???
He was okay
But wondering
About wandering
Was it age?
By consequence?
Or was he moved sleight of hand?
Mondays were made to fall
Lost on a road he knew by heart
It was like a book he read in his sleep, endlessly