no title 10-24-05

 

My toes are cold

I’m anxious for Sunday

My body feels old

I still smell hay.

This speech is a bore

My attention is low

I keep looking at the door

Because I just want to go.

I feel like a boy

I have to go pee

I want a new toy

Why can’t Anna see?

My poem is getting strange

Taking a weird path

It’s spanning a wide range

And I’d like a hot bath.