four good hours
where is my mind right now?
they say a person only has four good hours
of work in them a day — the rest is just pulp
a residual mess of boredom, bullshitting,
and procrastination…
give the fucking human a nap once in a while
don’t make them rush through lunch
you kinda want us to be fed and rested, don’t you?
otherwise the four hours of juice will be sour
and then you toss the peel in the trash
no, wait, how bout you step on it first
how bout you grind it up first
let the animals pick at it, spit it out on the side
of the street, and then scoop it up
and turn it into potpourri
that’s right, we’re all just oranges, baby
squeeze me hard, all day long
and then give me some kind of fake award
for fucking orangiest orange of the month
take my picture while I sit in a basket
with all the ugly apples and bananas,
all rotting and dying, anxious to slip out
of our skins, thinking a wilted salad
might be a better place to be
