so i’m sitting here at the end of the world.
it’s nowhere near as bad as everybody made it out to be–
just a dead end street with some dilapidated buildings
and crumpled invoices. i guess there must have been
a furniture store near here because according to one of the pages
somebody was late paying their latest installment
on a loveseat and armchairs.

there was no explosion,
no flood or overzealous winter. it did rain for a while
and there were some pretty dramatic thunder effects
but it was no more than i’m accustomed to– i mean,
i was born and spent the majority of my life in louisiana.
but anyway, there were none of the theatrics like the zealots predicted
(and if anyone else was around i’d say
“you better get your money back, dude, you got ripped off”)

honestly this is pretty cool, being at the end of the world–
i have all the ice cream and the cookies i could eat,
all the CDs i couldn’t afford, even some high-end designer clothes
and an old Atari console i don’t know how to use.
there’s a suit for when i feel fancy
and if i want to crossdress i can wear the tight sequined miniskirt,
because no one’s around to notice how my body strains at its seams.

i’d say i’ve got it pretty fucking great, mostly.
the only problem is now i have no one to cook all this food
or to care that i wear designer clothes, no one to have sex with
and no one to talk to when i feel like i’m about to go insane
from all this wealth, all this prvilege, this peace and quiet.
there’s no one to make fun of my teeth or my hair
or the way i walk, no one to criticize my poetry
or piss me off by telling me how much better their country is than mine.
(actually there are no countries anymore.)

to tell you the truth
i could really use an argument with my mother
about what i’m not doing with my life
a row with my ex-girlfriend over how stupid she is
or some meaningless banter with a stranger
right about now.


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