Sometimes you have to fucking quiet down,
And stop thinking and talking and just sit,
And breathe the air of your small Jersey town,
And wash off the accumulated shit.
Postpone the reading of my stupid play,
And cook up a few dozen recipes,
Pay heed to the wise friends who chose to stay,
And ignore the ones who jumped like fleas.
What I’ve done right is what I need to thrive.
The wrong part was mere femininity,
Thinking I could keep the dead ones alive,
While they reveled in their morbidity.
Now, excuse me while I change the laundry
I pray that I’ve answered any quandary.