8. On my husband’s birthday, I think about writing a sappy poem and then decide not to
because i’ll save all the sap for the card
— sentiment makes me feel gluey and weird
or in any case odder than normal
which is still fairly whack a doo tbh
i suck at lovey dovey stuff
if i had my way we would never exchange cards
or have to write something in readable handwriting
designed to prove just how much we care
or have to buy consumer goods of ever
increasing value and lack of actual use
to demonstrate our avid willingness to
prostrate ourselves financially on the altar
of mercantile LOVE
but lately — perhaps to patch over my
emotional awkwardness with a strange
sleight of hand — i find myself dropping exclams
like cracker crumbs: good work! well done!
happy Easter! you’re amazing! have a great
birthday! fuck yeah!
and also emojis up the everliving whazoo
as if i’ve lost central control
as if all of my emotions have been
flattened into tiny pictures or overexcited punctuation
dehydrated by an overwhelming need to toss something
across a looming abyss
