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Early for class


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drinking

Silk chocolate soymilk,

Sit on a bench outside the classroom,

Take out a pen and a piece of paper,

write one line about

my boyfriend lying sexy in our bed, and

this oblivious moron sits down right next to

me on the bench with

his headphones and rap blasting;

how loud can an iPod go, sounds like a stereo –

I can hear the lyrics.

“There goes my inspirtation,” I think.

Call my boyfriend to complain about

the nonsense,

and then I realize

all I do is complain and hate

people

since I stopped writing and b**** in general about

people in my poetry.

So I’m taking this minor

loss

of inspiration of my

sexy boyfriend in bed

and turning it into a prose poem

inspired by this obnoxious Yankee-hick whose first name is the same as

my 3rd grade teacher’s

last name,

who

no one really liked anyway;

irritation must carry on in the name.



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