Dear Henry

March 12, 2018
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Henry wakes up and
Fishes for: his daily dose of antidepressants, water, and waffles
Wednesday newspapers drain him
It makes him feel
Mushy, sick, so hard to breathe
He shreds it all

He leaves his eggos in the toaster
He finds coffee revolting
It tastes
bitter, almost acidic, it burns his tongue
The waffles are still cold in the middle

Henry would walk to work if he could
The guilt of adding gas into the air sickens him
But he drives anyways, in his very tiny car
Up the freeway, down the road, left to Murphy’s, and right by Peter’s

He sinks into his six-year-old chair
It squeaks, creaks, it hurts his back
Paper piles on his desk
Stack by stack
Oh, how he wished they were pancakes instead

There’s only Fantastic Burritos or Keen’s Sandwiches
Near his middle-of-nowhere work
But Henry isn’t hungry today
He has butterflies filled in his stomach
Dead ones
Swished inside him

Henry leaves at six
He steps back into his very tiny car
He’s worked very hard today
A donut on the way back would be nice
Chocolate with sprinkles, plain glazed, old-fashioned
He chooses one

He comes home, a little later than usual
He unravels the plain glazed and
Falls into his sofa to watch T.V.
Henry doesn’t watch sports, comedy, nor reality shows
He finds the documentary on South Asian River dolphins more comforting
Free, fluid, it kills him inside
How he wished he was a dolphin

Henry climbs into bed
It feels neutral under his sheets
Neither hot nor cold
Just right
He would hate to disrupt the state of serenity he’s in
But he masturbates instead
And fills his own bubble
With uncomfortable warmth

He drifts into unconsciousness
He says Good Night to the world
Sleeps in a bed made for two
And cry.

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