i sat up all night waiting for something romantic to happen,
not because i have a secret lover that comes through my neighborhood
at odd hours of the day,
but maybe it’s because i enjoy the silence of the night,
the brooding void that regenerates thoughts into motivation
that manifest their way into kitschy poems like this one,
but alas, i still don’t think i saw anything romantic happening last night
i stay up too late whenever i’m on vacation
from my 9-to-5, and sometimes it feels justified,
but i can’t help but feel a little guilty,
and yet i know that’s the weberian protestant work ethic
instilled within me since i was a child,
that i cannot get away from, no matter how much i logic my way out,
so on this vacation i’ll try to make
my unproductivity look productive, you know,
in order to trick myself into thinking i’m not a bad person
i opened up the find me app,
but i ended up getting lost
while looking for things that weren’t really there,
or at least that’s what my wife told me
when she and the rescue team found me
on the side of a mountain,
looking for a way up
Fred Aiken Writing 