the last poem in this collection
i laugh boisterously and throw my head back and make sounds that i cannot control or reflect properly on
and other people imitate this
and it seems like everyone is having a good time
i cry a little bit during romantic movies
because i feel like my life has been defined by ‘failed romances’
i don’t love anybody
i don’t hate anybody
i sat in my friend’s apartment and saw his cat
i said ‘hey boppy’ and the cat came to me
‘really like your style boppy’ i said ‘ole lil bopparoo’
and the cat jumped on my lap and fell asleep
it seems like the fact that the speed of light is constant
doesn’t have anything to do with what i care about
like the plight of the black man
and other racial things
that i am lying about
i am going to buy a bottle of jack daniel’s whiskey on my twenty-first birthday
and i am going to drink all of it by myself
and write ‘the great american novel’
cindy will chuckle about this and completely stop caring about her vision
and won’t opened her eyes for a week straight
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