Day 107 – USB

If you smash
a USB drive
full of photos
do the pixels
get released
back into
the world?

Do the memories
return to those
who forgot

or do they live on
in those
who never did?

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Day 84 – Where the Cattails Grow

Where will you be tomorrow
if the feeling finds you out,
discovers you’ve been on the run
for too long?

Will you be running back
to where the cattails grow,
to the falling snow,
to your quietest moments
wrapped up and
thrown into the sea?

Will you give my best
when you get there,
to the places I can’t go;

will you be there tomorrow
where the cattails grow?

Day 74 – Old Technology

It was such a small
window of time
that I had
a flip phone

I can still recall
all the drama
it captured

grainy photos
and late-night texts
that took minutes
to write

I think I must
be part now
of all those old people
who remember
old technology
with fondness

I think I must
be old
if that’s the criteria

Day 68 – Two Camps

They say something is better
than nothing
even if it’s not your best-
to give at all
is to give more than
not.

When I was younger
I would’ve hated that,
I would’ve said
not to bother-
I would’ve stuck my
picket sign in the ground
firmly in the camp
which demands
everything
and kept on pretending
I could ever give it.

But I feel so old
and so grateful now,
for all the halfs and partways
I’ve been given,
all the somethings
that were better
than not.

Day 56 – The Slower Death

Today I was a distinguished panelist
at a collegiate symposium
speaking about my experience
in the education profession.

I know.
I don’t believe it either.

Immediately after I had the urge
to listen to Post Malone
while drinking Red Bull
maybe buy a blunt
off of somebody in the bathroom
drive too fast and prove
I’m not a grownup,┬ánot really.

But I can’t do that, either
because I’m too old
and that shit’s just not cute.

So I’ll take the slower death
of continuing my work
with a bucketful
of Halloween candy.

Year 2: Day 107 – Too Old

Wut is this,
back muscles?
Oh hey, ow.

Reaching to the shelf,
this isn’t supposed
to hurt.

Wut did I do,
oh wut have I done
to get sore?

Kiddin’ me,
two days ago-
tried to get across
the monkey bars.

Come on now.

Year 2: Day 72 – Corncob

You keep comin’ to the same old place
’cause it doesn’t ask much of you,
it doesn’t need your full cooperation
to make you feel the best it can do.

And most of the time when you look around
you’re politely returning a smile you don’t want
in the first place, shaking a hand you don’t want
to touch, mouthing words you don’t hear.

But you’re still suckin’ on a corncob,
lookin’ at the door;
the party’s long been over
and there won’t be any┬ámore.

But it’s cold outside and it’s warm in here,
at least, ’til they lock the doors,
and no one needs you to love it here
’cause they know where you were before.

So you’ll keep comin’ to the same old place
so long as they don’t ask much of you,
ten years still suckin’ on a corncob
like it’s all you ever knew.