
P. G.
I Am Slightly Less Depressed
A poem by P. G.

and what a strange sensation it is
to roll over
wiggle the aliens
on my hands and feet
like an infant, unswaddled
i'll clear the cobwebs
light a candle
in my brain
keep the boxes marked essential
throw the rest out back
for the bonfire
we will have
on my 25th birthday
we will drink and smoke
and laugh
about the fact
that it took so long
to clean the attic