T for Tom

Predictability Kills

Posted in poem by johnsontoms on December 19, 2011

Predictability kills my soul

But coffee cups don’t get old

And old friends need something to do

If they have to listen to you.

So we met at the Monkey’s Nest to wish each other the best,

Shake hands and spill all the latest plans.

Who’s married, who’s dead, who’s living, who’s rich, who’s broke,

Somewhere ahead, somewhere behind,

Just talking to pass the time.

And it surprised me how much we didn’t know about the places

Both of us go.

But it was better when the words slipped to value and worth,

“What’s the point of life?”

“I’m okay with mine.”

But is it really mine and what makes that fine?

Had to sit outside to smoke,

Cars passing, people holding hands,

From the moon it must look like ants

Crawling home from work

To sleep, eat, and fuck

And wake up again

To do it again

And again

Without thinking then that we’re not any better

Than the change of weather that sends the birds

Migrating across the world,

Probably worse.

Because we don’t even leave and have things to see,

But somewhere in the middle of the bee line,

If you look hard enough

Are two friends drinking coffee wondering how did we get here?


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