i was gonna quit smoking weed today.
i had it all planned out.
drank some coffee,
took a walk,
got serious about life.
then i found an old joint in the pocket of my jacket,
like a tiny cockroach I once knew,
and thought,
“well, maybe tomorrow.”
i sat down by the window,
lit it,
and watched a pigeon try to land on a wire
too thin to hold it.
it flapped there for a while,
then gave up and flew off.
i sucked on the joint,
poured the last of the wine from the night before,
and made a list of things i should probably care about.
it wasn’t a long list.
after a while,
the pen slipped out of my hand,
rolled under the couch,
and i figured that was as good a place as any
for me to consider getting up
to roll another joint.
