By Megan Feringa
I left my heart at a thrift store in Munich
where it will probably only go for ten euros,
maybe fifteen on a good day
and that’s assuming there are good days. Some days
I sit and only want to be a vegetable
or a fisherman or nothing at all.
It sounds much deeper than it is. I’m really
just lazy and have gotten too old to hear
my Cocoa Krispies pop in my milk or believe I can
become famous with only my shower head.
I make horrible coffee
and an unfortunate mess in the mornings
because it’s hard getting out of bed for bad coffee
or when it’s raining like it is right now
outside my window a downpour, as they call it,
the devil beating his wife
though it wasn’t supposed to rain and it’s funny
how that happens, isn’t it? Because everyone’s outside
running around like little chickens pecking at each other
while I play with a string I pulled from my pillow
wrapping it around my finger like a bow
until the tip turns purple and black and I lose all the feeling
inside.
It doesn’t feel that bad
though Abbey told me I could die,
but I can always die and so can she. I tell her this
but she likes to forget it
like my grandparents
who keep buying cruise tickets
and telling everyone on Facebook
how great the buffets are
as they circle around the oceans
comfortably forgetting
the earth and everything on it.
Megan Feringa is a senior at Auburn University who is in love with Frank O’Hara and a good Malbec at 5 o’clock. She is majoring in Journalism.
