The whole digit
on a series of calendars, now trash,
ticking forward at midnight—
am I onstage now? Well.
“Here are the things I have
prepared,” but fumbling
through my bag, I cannot find,
“wait a second,”
I must have left them.
At home, or maybe
on a bench somewhere
back when we did
things outside.
“I’ll tell you a story, then—“
and that’s how you’ll learn
how little I have to tell
for an entire year gone.
January 2021
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