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Poetry

Against Boredom/Toward Warmth

A poem.

Boredom, my mother warned me,

is for the rich. And so I became amused
by tying grass together with grass,

by ants carrying their dead, by bending
a spoon as far as it could bend.

I spent days imagining my back
as a spoon bending and the men

who would watch me bend.
I even avoided laughing
to save energy.

I imagined having a fit of laughter
one day and lighting
a whole house

with it, keeping heads warm
with the trill of it.
I dreamt of being

a radiator, waking the ribs
of all the boarded up houses

you’ve lived and lazed in.

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