Finishing chores and
singing all around the apartment,
today’s been a
new lease on something,
not the apartment, but like,
life or hope or optimism,
all of the above,
work still makes no sense but
I’m trying to push through it
and do something good for the future.
Maybe I should put it differently:
work makes sense, but I
resist it, I don’t want to sit down
and type a bunch of documents,
but they,
they might just help a kid
love science, care about the planet,
build something and dismantle it
to make it even better,
it’s a block on which
time develops a happier iteration
of life for somebody.
Even if it’s just one person.
I might make a difference.
The Opportunistic Poet 