Poetry

I am in an interview and everyone wants to know

why? why write? why omit? why publish?

why self-publish? why do anything at all?

I am at a wedding and everyone wants to know

what my book is about,

how about you buy it and read it

my sarcasm

getting the better of me.

I am at retirement party and everyone tells me

I saw you on TV. How’s the little girl?

You’re a hero.

I roll my eyes,

grateful to have survived at all. Drink up.

I wouldn’t be here if time held me hostage.

I am at a staff meeting

and everyone wants to know

how did I save that boy in 1999 with an EpiPen shot.

I am at the movie theater

I tell my daughter,

hide me from my ex-boyfriend.

I am at Starbucks flirting with a twenty-year old

I could be mid-thirties

so I nod my head, quick smile.

I am at the red light,

crying.

I wonder why being alive

has to hurt so much.

I wonder why I liked you in the first place

when I cannot stand you now.

And no, it is not a song lyric,

it is my poem.