I Wrote 10 Poems in 20 Minutes
Nothing’s here for me
No one to talk to
No one to listen
But I have nowhere else to go
So I’ll stay
And try and make myself fit
And like the mundane
I talked to my Grandma
With the other ladies seated around a table
All in wheelchairs, no one knows they’re there.
My mom visits her everyday
But from duty, not to see her.
She doesn’t talk to her
But checks with nurses.
I think of what to tell, simple to understand
So I pulled up a chair
A pleated plastic seat
To sit and tell talk
Just for a few minutes.
But my Mom saw her mom today.
So that was good.
He said, don’t do what you love
For work, for money
Because you love it less
For cash for work
You can’t love it the same anymore.
Trisha said I don’t get angry
I get frustrated.
She seemed always frustrated.
But this way she still called herself Buddhist like the monks
Only can get mad at yourself
When you can’t find it, looking for it.
And it’s not there. But it should be.
And why can’t I find it.
I turned over the paper I’d leafed before.
Calm down, it’ll be here.
Then the impossible locations search
Turns up nothing.
It must be someone else’s fault
It has to be.
I couldn’t order a drink
She asked for some long island iced tea with a lemon twist
Fancy name like lemonzita.
I could barely afford an entre
But I couldn’t look as though I couldn’t afford a dinner
So I ordered a bit more money
Dipping sauce for the bread
And a water.
I’m going to forget what my mother’s fingers look like
I will after she’s been gone for a while.
She has the most beautiful fingers
Long and pale, thin.
The fingers I don’t have,
I got Dad’s short stubby hands.
I used to measure mine against growing boys in middle school
To feel small again.
But never elegant like my mother.
He knows if I’m not working
It’s wrong, I should be, this is not right
You have to work,
Characterize working as good.
Make the people work to be good.
You are valued this way.
Find your value in work.
Keep working for all those people
Who really need that.
After I leave fast food places
That these people are too tired to live
So they kill themselves in slow motion
With the easy choices and quick
So they don’t say coward’s way out
But don’t have to keep fighting
Being insane would be easier
I would think
Excused for behaviors
Not held responsible
Free to indulge the whims
Crazy at last.