A WRITER’S RUN AROUND A BLOCK

My fingers tango with the backspace button and other keys

Notifications vibrate from my phone and I deem them a parasitic tease

Thoughts flood my mind but none of them forge cohesive storylines

Tangent reflections gloss over past relationships: overlooked warning signs

I attend an esteemed institution recognized by two syllables 

But all my deferred reading just makes me feel miserable

They say this is the age of vitality 

Yet, every day equates a decade closer to mortality 

A young woman I’ve never met tells me to slug my skin

There’s an encyclopedia of preservation techniques—senescence is a sin

Our predecessors have graced us with a pandemic and a climate crisis 

But are guaranteed a comfortable retirement and carry on in unimpeded bliss 

They tell us to shop sustainably, a convenient and classist argument

Our menial wage affords us fast fashion; the textile waste is impermanent

Midnight makes its appearance after a lively day in the city

My energy is shot and the last adjective I can feign is “witty”

Both eyelids continue to droop and my sighs become more audible

I think everyone wishes conditions were more optimal

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