Not even the fresh produce section
can save me. Not even the ugly rows
of dirt between the trees. Not even
arriving fifteen minutes early to a movie,
or fifteen minutes late, or right on time.
Not even leaving my friend’s house
after we sing. Not even donating $20
to a kid for Pokémon cards. Not even
sleeping with myself in a dream.
Not even gaining devoted followers,
the kind who walk me down the street
like a smiling balloon. Not even family,
or drunkenness, or submitting myself
to the will of beautiful men can save me.
What do I do with the hours of my life.
There are over 7,500 varieties of apple
on this little planet alone.
Don’t think I won’t count them.