A Slice of Pizza and other egoist poems

"A Slice of Pizza"

A tempting triangle
Resting at a convenient angle
On the broad promenade
With many a beach bod.

Snatched in on the hunch
Someone had abandoned their lunch
And wouldn’t be coming back
For a condescending attack.

There was grime on his hands
From the adjacent sands
Yet innocence in his eyes
Resolved to hows without the whys.

Before he could take a bite
Its owner came into sight
Determined to berate
This thief in his helpless state.

But the lost boy didn’t feel like fighting
He just fled toward the next trash can sighting
Wishing a single slice
Didn’t equal a whole day’s meal price.

“When Will You Want Me?”

Memories of P.E. and chemistry class

Are synonymous with the word “pass,”

The dread of being picked last

Or watching others find lab partners fast.

Hasn’t changed much since those days,

Hasn’t altered the validation maze

Asking gently and desperately:

When will you want me?

Oh, how inconsistent is desire

Making most of us a liar

Tossing out buzz words like “love”

To those we might think warmly of.

Still I chase it, still I need it,

Still I’m sure some glove somewhere shall fit

This trembling hand of mine

Reaching toward stars that rarely align.

An unanswered text, a coded thank-you-next,

A drunk sext or sober analysis of subtext

All converge in the same helpless plea:

When will you want me?

“Sorry, I Was Drunk”

Let me start by telling you

You have my respect

So I’m sad I gave you

All those ugly statements to dissect.

Sorry, I was drunk

I didn’t mean to say that

It’s just a bunch of junk

That comes out when I sip and chat.

Someone shut me up next time!

Someone take my phone!

It’s the worst kind of crime

To make anyone feel more alone.

Sorry, I was drunk

I probably shouldn’t have said that

It’s mostly lots of junk

That slips out when I over-chat.

Although it would be a lie

To say what slipped through

Didn’t somewhat apply

To the way I sometimes think of you.

Sorry, I was drunk

I didn’t want to say that

It’s just a bunch of honest junk

I usually hold back when we chat.

“Comfortable Hell”

The cafe was bustling, the cashiers were hustling,
Headphones in to tune out the leaves rustling
Plus every reminder that outside
The world was a great deal more wide.

Most people are living on one or two brain cells
Furnishing their own private hells
Instead of trying to break out
And find a harder but happier route.

A nodded head, a scripted smile,
Consolations pulled from the approved file:
“Aww, I’m sorry to hear that!”
“Yes, you’re fine right where you’re at.”

Nothing new, nothing old,
Just whatever fits the mold
Required to be
Considered worthy.

Most people are living in one or two train cars
Polishing up the window bars
Instead of dreaming the door
May lead to something more.

“Two Truths and a Lie”

One misplaced word in a text,
One unintentional misrepresentation
Risks losing to whoever’s next
With their own polished presentation.

Is it supposed to be this hard? No.

Is it ever really easier? Rarely.
A constant greatest hits show
Remains the surest way we’re treated fairly.

Dishonesty is the best policy
When you’re in a hurry
To disprove the fallacy
That love is always blurry.

Two truths and a lie,
Maybe two lies now and then
If they’re the kind of girl or guy
Who judges based on where you have and haven’t been.

Is it supposed to be this hard? Of course not.
Is it ever really easier? Oh, honey
It’s safer to lie down and rot
Than go shopping without counterfeit money.