My handwriting is interesting to look at and often 
indecipherable says my friend Helen to whom I write 
a letter on occasion, when I have something to say 
and when I don't, she tells me she likes it best 
when I ramble on about nothing, 

which is to say, when there is only one day and then 
the next, that book you suggested in 2013 that I've 
just gotten around to reading, the half-done painting 
on the easel that refuses to paint itself no matter how 
much I wish it would, yes, yes, it is still there,

I went to Target where the clearance racks were full 
of landfill-ready micro-plastic when did it all become 
so shoddy, I'm still wearing sweaters from the last 
century which doesn't feel so long ago, sweaters were 
better then, furniture too,

the only items I replace anymore are these pens with 
which I write to you, dear friend, I use them up so quickly 
but perhaps not quickly enough, when do you think you'll 
be coming this way again, perhaps in September, yes, 
that would be wonderful.