All My Skills Come Online
so that’s enough of the bad shit, he says,
but in other good news, I started improv class.
here I am sitting in the sun finally
after winter as snippets of conversation
from the couple next to me make it
into this poem and here is their dynamic:
he complains and she offers executable solutions
but he shrugs them off while considering them
backs off his bellyaching
but it comes back around again
and he doesn’t ask her a single question.
they go in circles and he says:
it’s a ragtag fugitive group of people
as the crisp leaves swirl in a torrent
of invisible wind as someone is circular
sawing across the street off and on
but it’s not nearly as annoying as these two
idiots who sit like ducks uselessly quacking
at the water trying to make the current stop.