sumthin that might sumday becum a poem

“A poem: part one”

It’s getting hard to be like everybody else.
They speak of noncomformity as if
it’s a deliberate act of rebellion—as if everybody’s trying to be
another Henry David Thoreau.

Most of us are just too weak
to keep up with the world.
We’re all just waiting to be swallowed,
Just waiting for that final blow,
to sweep us off to eternity where
we won’t be bothered anymo’

It’s getting lonesome at the shore.

I have forgotten where I put my car keys.
I usually hang them by the door.

I get seasick when I look at the waves too long.