Poets and All

What is it that
inspires us to keep
doing it?
A genuinely
depressed look on that
Hispanic lady’s eyes on the subway?
That 2000-calorie
sub still swimming
somewhere across your butt
and your thick thighs?
No, it got to be that
phrase you read on a silly
high school book, so stupid
and non-sense because all of the kids
burst into laughter…
(well, all except you)

Or perhaps it’s just
that superiority feeling of
being an omniscient
narrator, sort of untouched
and sort of part of it all
but hey, not really.

Why is it that we still
keep doing it?

Seriously, we must be
addicted to it, otherwise
we wouldn’t do it,
for when we do it
(which is basically all the time)
we do it with fire,
with fist and spit,
we cling our jaws
and bite our teeth!

There is no other way we would know how.