In some ways,
Children need their parents more at the age of 28,
Then they do at the age of 8.
Am I wrong?
Spent another afternoon in the college bathroom, stuck, so to speak.
The teacher wanted to talk to me.
That's never a good sign.
He did that thing that people do,
That lip thing, that thing that makes their lips tight around the corners,
But, slightly parted in the center,
And it usually involves a shaking of the head,
A shake of despair,
Of waste of time.
I would have rather been at the gynecologist.
The first time.
When they took my blood.
And gave me an ultra sound.
And told me it wasn't the child of God.
They laughed at me.
They laughed so hard I felt their breath on my exposed genitals.
When did I ever imply that I ever thought it was the child of God?
Did they think I thought it was the child of God?
Or were they actually making a joke?
The teacher asked me if I was trying to be funny.
I'm never trying to be funny.
That's why it's funny.
I'm hysterical naked.
By the way,
Jenny, the neighbor, was in the waiting room.
In your place.
In seventh grade,
when my periods were regular,
You used to brag to sister #3, over the phone,
"Josephine works so hard,
She starts her homework at three in the afternoon,
And when I get up at three in the morning to go to the bathroom,
She's still working"!
First of all,
you were vomiting in the bathroom,
Second, the other kids finished their homework before dinner time.
And third, they ate dinner.
Anyway, I've been working on a paper all day,
And I feel much better.
Just keep working and never give up,
Just like you never told me.
Friend boy's been helping me all day with the footnotes and the hot totty "t" crosses,
Egg frys, and floor sweeps,
Not in your place.
In our place.
But, I do like Joan Baez. Still. Oh! Follow the bouncing ball. Please come to Boston in the spring time-- the night they drove ol' Dixie down la la la--
gets me every time.
Almost time to switch over to iced coffee.
But, not quite.
On my back,
Skin and Toast