Sunday, April 4, 2010



I've never been much of a morning person.

If I have get up early to teach,
I prepare everything the night before:
from clothes to lunch,
leaving nothing to chance.
I also don't like noise or bright light—
it's as distressing as an alarm clock.
A fifth grader once pointed out to me
in the middle of poetry class
that I had my top on inside out.
And so I did. Oops! Tattle-tale label.
I was backtracking as fast as I could.
Should I pull a quick metaphor out of my hat?
I thought, Aw, fuck it. I'm a night-owl
and I get up far too early.
There are bound to be crossover moments
of complete confusion and wardrobe malfunction.
I have no fixed schedule or place to be
like the way those in the workforce hamstering forth
to snug gray cubicles each and every morning.
I harbor angst about not waking up on time.
Alarm clocks are too jangly so I use my cellphone
and computer screen for ambient lighting.
Every so often, the system periodically goes haywire.
I arrive at a school oddly dressed,
or a day early, or not at all.
They never remember all the days
I am spot on time
dressed to kill,
and ready to roll.


napowrimo #4: inside out writing inside-out or outside-in. She says I watch too much HGTV, so I have learned (very well) about bringing the outdoors inside and also turning outside spaces into rooms (which is, apparently, more than putting the old sofa out on the front porch).In our case, writing inside out (or outside in) means setting your physical or metaphorical inner bits out of doors, to be walked around and looked at from odd angles, as if they were monuments or mailboxes (as an example). Or it could be transforming your internal organs into flowers or letting a pack of four-year-olds (human or otherwise) loose in your attic. Write a poem today that illustrates your idea of what is inside-out.

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