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Waste of Time - Joshua Romig

11/24/2013

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Picture
Waste of Time

Horny little drats
poised on the edge of their seats
anticipating their turn
in the verbal circle jerk
that is this class discussion
on some ridiculously boring piece of poetry
by some poor sap
who just wanted to be immortal.

Listen to them babble on and on 
and on
about nothing
and nothing
and more nothing 
rubbing their clits raw with 
eyeballs all bulged out about an inch
and screaming
LOOK AT ME! LOOK AT ME! 
I’VE GOT NOTHING TO CONTRIBUTE!
BUT LOOK AT ME ANYWAY!

Thudding the zombie corpses 
of dust-covered ideas and stolen opinions
with a loaf of flaccid bread
not worth the two cents 
plus tuition
it cost for them to speak in this room.

I could be somewhere else.
I could be doing something else.
I could be writing something meaningful
or something equally boring
or even maybe studying
but more than likely, sleeping

instead I'm listening 
to “the next jk rowling” tell everyone
that she doesn’t understand what "the symbology" is
and that, even though she 
professes to have been writing since she was 5 years old
she had never thought to write any poetry 
outside of four line rhyming stanzas she mislabels as
“paragraphs”

In awe of it
like an infant realizing for the first time 
that she was never bound to crawl 
in that one direction she’d always crawled.

The professor calls on me
I give him a line of crap about the cadence, or something
- I don’t remember exactly -
the thought becomes the fresh dead horse
for the next twenty minutes 
each class member taking turns
tossing their pseudo-intellectual seed upon it

I reach the tipping point of my give-a-shit teeter-totter



The clock’s thin red arm scurries in a circle
it does not share ms. rowling’s epiphany
so, like a blind mouse
frantically but meticulously 
and without much success
goes went about
sniffing out an exit

Go little rodent

Go!
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