Life

a new poem

Life

12:37 is the most beautiful time of day.
It’s already passed so I stand in front of
The Plaza thinking of my exes
and where they could possibly be
without me. Haha! Best of luck.
I’m so happy I’m free now.
I’m having tea with my mother.
I’m taking dinners alone. Check please!
Bring my drink to the bar where I can
passively flirt with everyone in a suit.
Nobody text me! Don’t call.
Don’t ask what I’m doing.
Who cares! I’m making art. It’s all
very serious except I’m in pink
on the most dreary day. I’m interested
in what color to dye my hair next. I’m interested
in finding out if people can change. Yes!
After all this time. The answer is yes.
Even Aristotle thinks so (I think)
when he says in Poetics that
“every tragedy consists of a complication
and a resolution.” Is that even true?
I wonder if he ever had tea
in the shower, which is the best place
to have it. Or smile on your enemies.
Or plan your next mood swing.
Well yes, there’s a hallway in The Plaza
on the way to Palm Court
where they’ve hung photos of
Marilyn and Truman and Jackie
and I could just be there all day.
Every day! I have the time.
I had a friend once who worked so hard
to become a lawyer just so he could buy
time and be a poet. And that’s sad!
That’s just not the right math.
It’s not that simple darling.
Not everyone is a poet.
You have to touch up your roots.
You have to put your tongue
in someone’s mouth. Break something!
Throw water on someone! Just like the movies.
You have to get off the internet
where you’re reading this poem
and actually live. Omg.
What the fuck are you doing here?
Time to go. Have a smoke.
Look at everyone flitting around.
It’s called life! It’s so chic.