Fred Aiken Writing

Category: Poetry

handwriting smudged by apple particulates

i held a half-eaten apple in my hands as i walked into the post office to send off a letter i wrote to my old college roommate to let him know i forgot my facebook password and didn't feel bothered enough to change it, so i figured i'd just write him a letter, even though my handwriting is shit--like a true crime against humanity sort of quality--and it's not made any better by my eating the apple while i wrote the letter, so now there's apple particulates all over the page, and my hand is covered in apple juice, which transfers onto the ink and smudges as i write the letter, composed of scribbles barely that, incomprehensible, poorly spelled scribbles meant to represent some form of communication or another, and it's not like i needed to send the letter to him, since it has been years and years since we last spoke, and neither of us had done the due diligence to keep up with one another, but either way, i somehow reconnected with collegiate fling of mine, whom i learned ended up marrying, and then divorcing, my old college roommate, so it seemed like the decent thing to do, you know, to let him know that we were dating now, not that it was absolutely necessary, but what is expected in these sorts of situations? i don't know, but anyway, in the letter i wrote and mailed out to him i asked if it was alright if i dated his ex-wife after all these years of not seeing or talking to one another, though to be honest, it's not like if he says 'no' then it will deter me from dating her, since i'm at that age where meeting new people, especially romantically, is incredibly hard, like an unfathomable task that i tend not to do, which is probably why my college roommate's ex-wife and i started dating in the first place, and i like her, you know, so i want this whole thing to go smoothly, and i suppose in my head i'm thinking, well, maybe i need to let my old college roommate know so that it doesn't, i guess, become a problem if he were to be blindsided by the news of our romance--though maybe i'm just overthinking this

it’s just a joke

a coworker told a joke today,
but when i didn't laugh
they told me to get a sense of humor,
to which i thought i had,
though admittedly i didn't know, for sure that is,
so i decided to make a conscientious effort to get a sense of humor
and laugh
and laugh
and laugh,
perhaps too much,
because now some other coworkers are complaining to hr,
and they're having a meeting about me on Monday

get outta bed

some days the most i can accomplish is getting out of bed and making some peanut butter toast,
though just because i didn't build a rocket to mars,
or input data into a spreadsheet,
or keep my duolingo streak,
or sit on a golden toilet seat,
that doesn't mean the day was a bust,
since i at least wrote this dumb poem
that sounded a lot cooler in my head before i wrote it down