reading a poem about suicide and
I find myself overly compelled to
get up and immediately re-read
the poem, in its entirety, to you.
For a minute or two, because I
think this is funny, I am starting
to text you (“Isn’t this funny? ...”).
Realizing I haven’t even moved a
muscle in an effort to get up to
read the poem about suicide to you
and, funnier still, haven’t even sent
you an “Isn’t this funny?” text message,
I laugh out loud, to no one but myself.
