On weekdays

why does it feel so good to dwell and wallow,
and why do all the pretty songs make me sad-

worthless questions that I use to deflect
like a windbreaker
the gusty surprise of my empty yard,
there is just wood to shield my walls from this windy day
and the subsequent pressure of staying upright
has all my sturdy weeds swaying.

I turn off the people with my headphones,
turning up the dial when the wind whistles too loud,
leaving my yard to walk
down,
and around
and away
from the people, from the wind, from the wallow

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