finally, a day off.
hit up the grocery store,
admire the brush along the freeway,
the only nature
i have time for on this day.
you get the gist,
but let me give you detail.
i woke up,
thought,
"now's the time
to eat some prunes."
there seemed a delay
so i called backup to the fray.
the spoon tings,
rushing through a bowl of raisin bran
the tall glass sings
as i mix a packet of metamucil.
but like the laxative equivalent
of taking more edibles
because you think they aren't working,
consequence is the henchman of fate
nothing to do
except wait it out, prostrate.
by the time i was done shitting
the day was over,
the porcelain aura somber.
unproductive, by what measure?
the mind may be unfulfilled
but my colon is tilled.