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my teacher told me the other day
that our whole lives are banalities,
platitudes, commonplace and stale sayings
on a gumball wrapper.

“originality,” he orated, flinging his arms
into an unknown wonder, “is dead.”
oh. glassy eyes of classmates bored into him.

i did not know that the day i dragged myself
up at 6 am to see the sunrise alone was trite
or when my parents almost burned the kitchen down
was such a vapid happening, i mused

“so if that’s that,” he muttered, facial hair aquiver,
“why don’t you all just live?”

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