unhappy bathroom
moments
I just closed my eyes for a moment
and watched an animated version of
one of my kidneys pass out—in slow
motion—of my body.
There it lies,
gasping for breath.
A ream of paper is not a closet. So
this closet, without a ream of paper,
means that I have to go to Walgreen’s
as an excuse for a prescription that
I cannot write.
It’s not that I don’t keep writing
stuff down like “You made me
drop my mind along the way,”
“What am I, a robot?,” “BTW,
have I always been stupid
or am I just now realizing
this?,” and
“Leaving so soon? But
you
haven’t even tasted this
big bowl of poop yet!”
[all pasted-on smiles &
junior prom waves as
everybody shuffles
out the door.]
