Poems X

I think I've figured out my type; it's AAWG: All-American White Girl. The kind that would make me a pie. That's, I guess, first on my list of criteria for a life mate. Pie-making. Question 1: Would you make me a pie? Question 2: Will that pie be delicious? Question 3: Would you get jealous if I eat someone else's pie, like at Thanksgiving? If the answers are Yay, Yay, Nay, you've passed. This next poem has absolutely nothing to do with any of that.

"Cualacino"

I'm not drinking anymore,
he says,
Until I am.
I'm not eating carbs anymore,
he says,
Unless I want a donut.
I'm going to be a better person-
But not quite yet.
I'm going to clean the whole house-
Tomorrow.

Everything starts tomorrow,
It's the first day of the rest of your life.
But if that fails,
There's still the day after that.

A man sits in a chair
A woman lies in bed.
The room's a mess
And so are their heads.
The wind blows outside,
And the garage door creaks,
The front door slams,
They left it ajar,
A glass on the table,
Two on the stairs,
And all the while, it piles up,
Piles up, piles up-
Until it's too much to handle
Nowhere to begin
The wind chimes, again
Like an alarm
Blaring, the people like sheep,
Bleating, hating themselves
But they can't stop! Or rather, start.
Tomorrow is the first day of the rest of everyone's lives,
Not just yours,
You're being selfish,
self-indulgent, because
Being selfless is scary.

It doesn't matter,
Fear never goes away,
It just changes-

So why can't you?

Why not me?
Why not you?
Why not?
Why?