waiting for an apple breakfast
outside the corner store
fifteen minutes before its opening,
hopping foot to foot
hoping
kinetics will involve
heat of some sort
while steam seeps from my mouth
and my wet hair slowly gets
cold enough to freeze
and even when on the bus,
my hands are too cold to touch
just like my feet in their protective layer
of boots as the rest of me
will slowly freeze, the more silent you become
at the other end of the line.
being busy only goes so far as a valid excuse.
meanwhile i am planning
to become as busy as you are, so when
i don't believe you, it's because
i have done what you are doing,
only while working, also
standing outside a co-op waiting
for the doors to open so i can manage a breakfast
from the bruised fruit bin,
yeah
there is more to life than poetry,
or homework, or
using the above as any
sort of excuse.
so when i'm worrying
because i'm not bleeding when i should,
and i don't know what to say
about that,
or if it should be
any business of yours,
other than your involvement
in the potential making
so i'm running a test
and
with the results
i will decide if i should let you see,
and decide
what the fuck we are supposed to do
with this mess,
whatever we are
calling ourselves
lately
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