Looking over at them,
lying and inactive,
my head full of goals,
pen making away at
check boxes at the
end of every week,
conversations about
progressive moves with them.
As my pen runs out of ink,
I can hear the voices on
t.v. change as the stations
are switched by them. I
begin to rip into pieces
my list, written to follow
as I think of what I’ve done,
what all they haven’t,
how none of us are getting anywhere.
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