Day 16: Something that you miss
Growing up, I was terrible with
Such an ominous, weighted word
for a few sheets of paper
and pencil scribbles
and eraser shavings.
When five minutes still felt like
next Friday never seemed to arrive
until it did
in a flurry of Thursday nights.
I spent Friday mornings
having homework for breakfast,
curled over my worksheets on the bus
where homework was forbidden.
“It’s in the word,” teachers would tell me
but I was already relaxing
into the comfort of Next Friday.
Time is more precious to me now,
something to be rationed, not guzzled.
But despite my lists,
my incessant alarms,
I find I am constantly rushing
frantically scribbling blueprints for solutions,
panting as I reach the bus stop
only to find
I have already missed