I make
the coffee
in the morning.
I hope you do not mind
the floating grounds.
We are all awake,
marching to class like dead zombies with outstretched arms,
because we’re supposed to.
The rain dilutes the pile of puke on the sidewalk,
and I make a conscious effort to jump over it,
but I get some on the bottom of my shoe.
The fountain is drained, it’s October,
my hands are always cold now,
but I love the leaves.
There is a cockroach that lives on the first floor,
I watch him run from wall to wall,
I wonder how no one has killed him yet.
The man has not come to clear the weekend carnage from the stairwell,
a puddle of piss in the corner,
I feel sorry for the carpet fibers.
My homework assignment takes some time,
I watch an episode of television and eat dinner,
I don’t think anyone knows what they’re doing here.
I make
the coffee
at night.
I hope you do not mind
the floating grounds.
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