February

Rent is due tomorrow,

(curse these short months)

I paid forty dollars for groceries,

(even this seemed too much)

and my throat is sore,

What is there to do about it these days?

I am eating a five dollar fill up,

ten minutes before class,

listening to the boys who are legally men,

discuss politics they don’t understand.

I wonder how I got here,

and why the poetry

took so long to find me

in an artsy town.

 

Did it confuse me for someone else?

Did it get distracted by the music, the artists, the writers?

I’d understand if it did,

for I’m not much of any of those anymore.