and i have nothing
to look forward to
so i might as well enjoy
this page right now
as the coffee
sits in the cup
as my ass
sits in the chair
i haven’t looked
out the window
because i’m sure
it’s the same bush
waiting for me:
sharp, dry,
and violent against
my getting over it
rooted like the weekdays
the hours and the wages–
it’s there rain or shine
twelve feet out
my back-door
and no escape.