The Poetry of Lists

It's been a while since posts. To celebate my upcoming week of multiple poetry events, a few words to get into the mood:

The poetry of lists

I just want to feel better.

I say that and he laughs and tells me to put it in something, a character who throws her arms up in the kitchen.

I mean I sit around in one room.

Then I stand and move to another room.

I want so bad to turn to the TV on.

The house is full of books I haven’t yet read.

The Americans make such good TV drama, when they do it right they really do it right.

It’s autumn and we all eat more bread than we should.

The comfort of gluten fills our mouths and bellies.

Are you really in pain? he asked once, or are you just needy and neurotic.

I bought two brown pears but we didn’t eat them.

They turned sour and spurted fluid into the fruit bowl.

I wiped down the apple, it’s okay, but I might peel it first.

I wrote a poem about my failed novel.

It was about grieving something that never existed.

If we’re going to monitor what people say and do on the internet we should ban happy holiday photos.

That would be a start.

I have no car right now and the empty space out the front of our house is sort of exciting.

I’ve planned the train I need to catch and I’m ready to go.

It’s raining, it’s been raining so much, hence the spoiled pear and the damp wooden floor in the laundry.

And the need to take an umbrella with me today and wear sensible shoes.