Originally written: April 5th, 2019

There’s nothing that will come out so I give up on trying.
Sometimes walking clears the brain but squats hurt the leg
and so today I limp.

Spring showers bring May flowers even though I showered today
and would rather not get wet, but in the end what does it matter
I’ll be inside again soon. Pass familiar faces, unfamiliar names.
Rabbits reproduce at a fast rate so I wonder how long
until they take over the building. We should get a rabbit,
I’d remember its name.

It’s not that I don’t care simply that caring is tiring and sleep
sleep even more so.

Music to inspire but that’s a fickle thing, repetitive even after a hundred tries.
I could limp up and down the stairs again. I could acknowledge the faces
who sit in the lobby and know me and I them, even if only casually.
There’s power in a name—just say it.

It’s pouring now and the pink and white fawn looks away from me,
feigning ignorance as One New Message
hovers above its head. I unlock. Hit mute as though the world
will follow and all that will remain are the sounds of what I want:

I wish we had a pool, but at least in this way I can drown comfortably.

The prompt for this was to create a Frank O’Hara inspired poem, particularly one in the style of his Lunch Poems. While everyone in class seemed to pick up the style easily I really struggled, and as a result, I wrote a poem about avoiding to write a poem instead. So really, it all worked out.