But I’m Allergic
and frustrated.
It’s night and hot.
I’m twisted,
sweating the sheets.
Since there’s no escape,
I’ll light a candle.
My altar is littered
with La Croix cans.
Absurdism didn’t seem so gauche
in previous administrations.
I’ll Be Honest With You
This is the back-up plan.
We’re in it.
We sussed it out on the silent road trip,
when my car still smelled new
and the things I said seemed
fresh to even me.
This is the prune plan.
When they dried up,
shriveled like umbilical cords.
Still good in their way.
I’ll wrap them up in
individual plastic—
a candy trick.
Eat up.
You could use the good shit.
May is Different
I’m older in the calculable way.
More kids die.
My sister graduates high school.
I joke that she’s a survivor.
It’s not a funny joke.
Because I’m older,
I ask a lot of questions.
An example:
Can I be cynical without
being opportunistic?
I don’t have a clock on
my wall. But I’ve spent
most of my life is schools
where there are clocks
on walls. Maybe I miss
the ticking.
There’s probably an app for that.