The
very idea
Of
using the ink from a broken pen
To
trace out the smeary duties
Of
a university student
On
the back of a textbook...
I
see you have defiled
Yet
more of the library’s property,
As
we sit crammed in the staircase
One
by one by one.
And
you’re wearing those fake glasses
Without
the glass, because it’s cool,
And
telling me made-up preachings
Of
how to live my life,
Take
your grilled cheese please
Don’t
spill on my shoes
Or
my notes for this midterm paper.
Let
me turn you over to my good friend R,
Who,
indeed,
Will
give you sage advice
That
surely you need:
“Homie,
bitches love a nigga
with
a sensitive side”.
And,
verily,
My
good friend S will add
“He
speaks the truth”,
For
emphasis.
Tell
me, where is my yogurt
I
think I dropped it
And
miraculously
It
landed in your
...Stomach?
These
stairs are too crowded
For
the likes of us,
And
this mess
Of
ink and cheese
—And
yogurt...
And
awkward text messages
Leaves
us with the utter inability
To
properly get up
And
say—finally—
goodbye.
1 comment:
And thus the lunch hour ends not with a bang but with a whimper.
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