During the depression, I lived richly.
During the war, I lived peacefully outside of town.
The year the crops and gardens failed,
I enjoyed sugary meals from 7-11.
When I thought about what I was doing I didn’t know what I was doing.
I wrote poetry that was not poetry.
I had thoughts about love that were not about love.
The day the towers fell I was raising children,
And thinking blindly in the back of my mind about many conspiracy theories.
Working on my Ph.D., I drank beer and played Pac-Man
At a Big Ten school, avoiding drunk football linemen.
In 1986 I had more doubts about her after she expressed herself, and yelled.
In 1996 my mind was clarified by a smoking habit, and I was more loved, albeit I smelled.
Paid to take my money, professionals had the money in wealthy days
I paid to those who were in debt to be above talk of money.
There was a huge crisis. Because it was balmy and sunny.
All politics and all philosophy belonged to one particular, silky-haired asshole.
The differences that were not really differences took their toll.
My lover and I during the Age of the Selfie did not take selfies at all.
And once, I think, my short, successful friend pushes me from behind, simply because he is small.