Days Eaten By Locusts Poem by David Kowalczyk

The godless August sun knifes
through the curtainless windows.
Another day sentenced to
animated amnesia.


Every step I take
will be swimming through salt.
My very breath will make
the odor of dead ridebts
seem like lilacs in May.


I will:
go to work
eat my lunch
work some more
come home.


I will:
eat some more
watch 'Joe Millionaire'
go to sleep
with an index finger
lodged up my anus.


I will:
do this without pleasure,
without pain, without interest,
without thinking, without doubt,
without meaning to, but because
I should.


After all, it was good enough
for my parents.