they’re all good eggs, mostly

some of them are rotten, but it’s rare

they have thin shells

that crack

at the slightest kind of pressure

so they stay in their classrooms

and teach kids.

then, they go to lunch

they bring sacks

and eat their sandwiches.

the guys talk about sports

and the girls talk about kids

I don’t sit with them


if I did

I would think about suicide

most of the time.

they exclude me from their after-school parties

and I am full of joy

they talk about their babies

and ask me if I have one

“No. I’m not even married.”

“Oh—that’s too bad. What do you have?”

“Peace and quiet.”

“What’s that?”

“Basically, I can do whatever I want.”

I know, they envy me.

It’s strange, because I have nothing.

I am like an empty jar,

waiting to be filled.

Their houses are full of crap.

I don’t even have a house.

My apartment is empty.

I don’t care about promotions

or the big game.

I do my own thing.

I am free.


2 thoughts on “I do my own thing

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