Not even the fresh produce section

can save me. Not even the ugly rows

of dirt between the trees. Not even

arriving fifteen minutes early to a movie,

or fifteen minutes late, or right on time.

Not even leaving my friend’s house

after we sing. Not even donating $20

to a kid for Pokémon cards. Not even

sleeping with myself in a dream.

Not even gaining devoted followers,

the kind who walk me down the street

like a smiling balloon. Not even family,

or drunkenness, or submitting myself

to the will of beautiful men can save me.

What do I do with the hours of my life.

There are over 7,500 varieties of apple

on this little planet alone.

Don’t think I won’t count them.