poem trilogy

Have a Great Day
You get a new memo
every morning,
from the TV or your phone,
which clearly explains what is sinful
If you eat anything and get fat,
it’s your fault.
If your social feed is boring,
so are you.
Bad things happen
to bad people,
and to you.

The ticker tape of rules,
Eat this, not that,
worry about this (not that),

gives us all a standard by which to hate ourselves.

I crown you Royal Fuck-Up #1274B.3,
welcome to the therapist’s office!
If you are overcome with guilt,
press 1.
A sense of failure,
press 3.
Ennui, apathy,
or any other scenario where you lack shits to give,
please remain on the line for
Customer Assistance.

The headline: Here’s how you’ll fail today!
Have a great day.

The Beverage of Her Dreams
You give yourself a box,
you climb inside,
and you pray for
the lights to go out.
You pray for dragons
to nibble off your hands,
and a flood to
sweep you away.
The fantasy of what you can endure
come true.
You come to, blinking,
inside a dream that you died,
and were reborn,
as enchiladamilk.
There is no such thing,
you think,
but Pah!
Who would have predicted
milk made of hemp?
Considering this inventive new beverage,
you climb out of the box,
put on a sweater,
feed the dragons,
and set forth.

Why do all my metaphors
for growth,
or strength,
involve some form of leaving?

She left her lover.
She left the kitchen.
She said No.
She drove away.

Walking, walking,
my metaphors always
walk away from me.

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