whatever’s left

i sometimes sit

reading great poetry

thinking what the fuck

is this

and i theorize

quite poetically

that everyone must’ve just

got together one day

probably a saturday

because those are universally conceived as glorious

and at a picnic

with long sandwiches that could connect europe to america

though there was a bit too much salad

with enough drinks to make an alcoholic reconsider their lifestyle

with women and men making more of them both

they huddled together for a few moments

agreed that this so-and-so would be so-and-so

this that-and-that would be that-and-that

that this-and-this, though, would be piss

and this-ah-this-one would be tits

which would make a woman say

you cannot say that

which a man will reply

but i just did

which a woman will say

say you did not mean it

which a man will answer meaningfully

that he was only talking metaphorically

which the woman and everyone else

including those eating the sandwiches and drinking and finding themselves

in lesser versions of themselves

that such-and-such metaphor belonged in such-and-such category

though so-and-so could equally apply

given the scenario

for example

when not at a picnic

i pick up a new poem

one not yet written

one that may be this one

or that which will win you over

and i realize that this theory is correct

for you – my everyone – will not read this

attempt at greatness

gone bad

another drink

another sandwich

another try at it again

say it say it say it

all