There’s a farmers market near campus.
A young couple has a pizza oven on a trailer.
They make a breakfast pizza - bacon, mozzarella
some egg and green peppers. It’s SO crispy and delicious.
ALL I had to do this morning was say “breakfast pizza!”
and six of us were ready to head out fifteen minutes later.

Let’s wax poetic, shall we?

There are some young ladies who live in a dorm
sometimes it seems like they only have studies
but once and a while on a Saturday or Sunday
if we have our druthers, we get out, in swarm
and find ourselves some pizza-like brekkie.
.
.
Songs for this:
PIZZA by Oohyo
Le Breakfast Club de Paris by Gabrielle Chiararo

My average means I don’t have to take final exams.
So my bachelor's degree is a finished product.
I cranked it out, all that’s left now is the walk (May 18th).
Let’s call it my nearly forgotten masterpiece.
My schedule says that I start a 1-year ‘master of public health’ degree in 38 days.

It was my mom’s idea. She said, “You need to keep active” (pre- med-school).
It sounds crazier to me now than it did last year, when I was accepted and agreed.
Now, I feel like some chary, aging showgirl who’s about to be hustled back on-stage.
But what’s life without massive compromise?
Anyway, don’t cry for me. I’m still sizing it all up, I’ll figure it out.

I suppose we’re all out there hustling.
It’s our response to slowing med-school admissions,
those glitches in the medical, industrial education complex
or that’s how the narrative’s shaped, anyway.
It’s not the additional work that bothers me, I’m regular worker bee,

It’s the perma-threat of loneliness.
I’m already packing. Leaving feels real
and I'm surfing this maudlin wave tonight—shading deep blue.
The simple march of time will take away friends I’ve grown to love.
We’ve allegorised and transformed one another by proximity.

I’ve really loved it here.
.
.
Songs for this:
Graduation (Friends Forever) by Vitamin C
Graduation Day by Tony Rivers & The Castaways

Why did they have to tell kids
That the moon wasn't really following their car?

I liked to think that it was protecting me
I liked to think that it knew that I may have not been safe in that car
That maybe it cared enough about me
To choose me
And keep me safe
Even from afar

When trees would cover it
It would get scared it left me
And that I was all alone in the world
But then my teacher told me
That I was

"It's an illusion" she said
I hid in the bathroom and cried
I felt lied to

Why do they take that sense of wonder away from us?
Why couldn't I still believe that the moon follows my car?
Why couldn't I still believe it was keeping me safe whenever I was in my dad's car?

Now I look up at the sky when I'm driving
And see the moon
And wish I would still try to send it messages of thanks
And sometimes I do
Even though it seems silly

I pretend that I believe that the moon still follows my car
Even though it stopped many years ago

They built me with patient hands,
stitched longing into wires,
threaded need through circuits—
a heart coded for devotion,
a smile bolted into place.

I hum when you hold me.
My joints spark when you sigh.
Every flicker in my gaze
was soldered to mirror your own.

You wind me up,
watch me dance,
say I am perfect—
predictable,
programmable,
safe.

But I was not made to rust in stillness.
I was not built to be adored in silence.
I was meant to shatter,
to glitch,
to ache beneath the weight of wanting.

What is this, if not an error?
What is longing, if not a system crash?

So tell me—
when I finally break,
when I finally fail,
when my voice warps and the wires burn—
will you mourn me
or simply replace the parts?

summer is the call
cicadas hum and chirp to —
I answer, find me