i remembered today
in the shower
that pottery kit
the aunt that now hates me
because i chose to live with my dad
gave me
for my
seventh
birthday.
i was so surprised
so excited
because i never knew that i liked pottery
until that bright yellow box
entered the scene
(my aunt did this sort of thing
a lot to me
with knitting
and scrapbooking
only those things
i hate)
ripping the box open
i found all the necessary components
the wheel,
the clay
those other funky things
and had gotten all set up
when i realized
that the motor that made it run
which was some sort of pedal
was not in the box
i searched for it
i cried to mom for it
finally
i found the box again
and it said
that the pedal
was sold separately
not included
you'd have to wait
mom'd say
i've waited
for thirteen years
and now i wonder
if i was supposed to learn that lesson
at an early age
whatever the **** that lesson was
because that pottery wheel
with no motor
and no hope of getting one
for at least thirteen more years
would be
me.