Lifted: A Stuck Inside Poem, Day 8

Can I borrow your canary in a coalmine?

Somebody stole mine.

I checked her cage, and let’s just say

she didn’t leave a note.  Why

would anyone take a bird?

One thing’s for certain though,

the theft took place.

I was real spicy towards my poetry

professor in undergrad. 

One time in class when I asked

what her first big publication was,

she told us it was caption

stolen from Architectural Digest Magazine

with added lines breaks

but no words changed.

Not even the punctuation

was altered.  That’s not postmodern. 

That’s called stealing.

Last I heard she was tenured

at a prestigious school in The Northeast.

The people in charge aren’t experts.

They are cosplaying for health insurance.

But damn it’s hard not to get offended

when someone tells you to change your costume.

You don’t even have to join

the military anymore to die

for your country. You

can just get coughed on

by an equally desperate person

while working the lunchmeat

counter at your local grocery. 

Your paycheck may not reflect it,

but you are essential

and have always been so. 

On behalf of motherfuckers everywhere,

I’m sorry for not looking

you in the eye when I asked

if capicola or pepperoni goes better

with manchego. That was a stupid question.