I hate OA. The day you first
went through those doors
was worse for me than a root canal,
than your death would have been.
We had such fun together, before,
when you’d match me at the buffet,
send me back when I’d stuffed myself
for what you found couldn’t be missed.
I miss the food, the fun. And I miss you
though you’re still here. When I have
the juiciest story, you stop me cold,
say it’s not your business,
you’re not interested. You won’t
get mad even at your hot-button issues,
won’t have a screaming fit, won’t plan
revenge. We can’t share clothes.
Oh, you gave me what you had, but your
not needing them makes me embarrassed
when I put them on. You’re gone so much.
You skipped the 7th World Series game
for a stupid meeting. And you’d been
two days before! It’s no fun anymore.
You may laugh a lot, look happy all day,
but you make me miserable.
I hate OA.