I guess my poems are a little too
Long Winded
Your interest gets blown away
In a monsoon strength gust of
Boredom

Be that as it may
I'll still scratch those bumps that
Show up on my knuckles from time to time

And I'll still keep that empty bottle of shampoo in my shower
And that translucent bar of used soap stuck to the floor
I'll step on it and pretend
That I don't notice

The clouds will gallop by
Polyps will form in my colon
My hair will gray
And so will yours
And one day
Hopefully
We'll both sit in a home
With a plastic mask strapped to our face
Long Winded
Trying to breath the air of
A changing time.