A poem for poem in your pocket day

A poem I wrote this morning


It is hard to make a decision

in relentless rain

when you have no idea how things are


when normal is a stray dog, anyway.

You saw it through the window

on a highway once

before it disappeared

in the scrub.

“Go with your gut” we say.

You want to punch us

in ours.

No blame here.

We struggle to help

We being parents

We being friends

We being the guy behind the mask

at the grocery checkout

We being the people who say

“This is your life.”

“These are your years.”

“There are no bad choices.”

You are smart enough to know that

(though they may be true)

these are all clichés.

Spit on them, then.

Disinfect yourself

from our dreams

(if the stores have even restocked on disinfectant.)



milk tea

money –

all go into a spreadsheet

that pretends this is obvious

or logical

that pretends this isn’t hard.

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