Geritol-ism

I feel listless this morning;

tired, unenthusiastic, droopy,

uninterested, half-asleep or

half-awake depending on which

side of the planet I awoke from.

I’m like a new extension cord

in its taught-wound loop-de-loop

sleeved and hanging at the hardware store

in the fascinating electrical wing where

nothing is working.

not good for anything.

when I was a kid I was not good for anything.

“good-for-nothing”.

no income, no expectations beyond

cleaning up the mess I made

or washing my hands ‘cause they’re filthy. 

how’s a prize-worthy poem born from an attitude like this?

well, it ain't easy.

but the poem above has entered the ring nonetheless.

fini