I can't stand it when people bite their nails
or when children grow up;
I hate to see grown men act
because, frankly, they are bad at it;
I don't like girls who are phonies
or guys who are flits;
I certainly do miss Jane,
but by now I bet she's forgotten me.
As all people will,
as I sip my fifth cup of coffee
and drag on countless cigarettes
and meet exciting hookers
and become a super hero,
I only think of how I like no one
and how no one likes me either.

Where do the ducks go in winter?
Where do they fly,
when their lake is ice
and their homes are pulled from their feet?

But it seems if no one is worried,
no one cares if they stay
or go.
And they move on with their lives,
never stopping enough to care.