Wednesday, April 20, 2011

empty box, pizza crusts

yesterday: chapbook from my teacher
in undergrad
arrives. i tell her
i’ve got it, can’t wait
to read it. still
haven’t cracked the cover,
not that
i’m not interested, just
by the junk in my living room, the
empty box, pizza crusts
abandoned on a plate

no matter who i live with, it
always seems as if i live alone

despite our daily dialogue,
the decisions we make together.
stacks of unopened mail,
bills that will not get
paid, junk mail from
my bank.
i won’t wonder, later
when they cut off my
cards, when my credit
i keep examining things –
my erroneous belief that
adulthood was supposed to
be different from my days
of university, the frustration
of “failing”
the refrain is always the same
“get a real job”
as if i wasn’t trying
and failing, as usual

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