30 Poems in 30 Days

30 Poems in 30 Days
A Project for National Poetry Writing Month

Monday, April 15, 2013

Day 14 -- Superhero Monologue

I created a superhero for the occasion, but she's not very super.

Insomnia Girl

So if I got it wrong when he said that, I should have said, well, you know, and I really think I was right, but you have to make allowances. Queen Anne’s lace was something we did once or twice, but I always come back to the wild carrot and those August days when we put them in food coloring water to make them blue or pink or this limey green, and so what if you can’t get along some days? You have to make allowances. Palenville water rushing over cliff faces, how did we manage not to die then, drunk and slipping off the edge of the falls? Albert, I didn’t know him well, red hair, sold pot to punks like us, fell and broke his collarbone, and we heard about it after, and that night coming back from The Klondike when Jay hit the guardrail and almost sent a carload of us to our deaths, and how did we not die?  Spread the collarbones. And other work. Other work. You need to work harder.  Your cousins do. Your colleagues do. Stop getting distracted. Make the list of what to do before you leave.  If you can get those things done in time, you’ll be fine, but you’ll never finish the work in time. Never. Can’t be done. Why do you always let yourself get in this position? Learn to say no. Get up early. Get up early. Set the alarm.