A striking black man
reads a book titled
I admire his
sweater and slacks,
comparing myself
to the woman beside him
in a sweatshirt and shorts.
I look like I don’t
want to look.
You and I are both
jeans people
to a fault.
Right around the
corner from efficiency
is boredom, too much
laziness to live
your own life.
I see it in the same
placemats I use all
the time,
the basket of daily
napkins that don’t
need ironing,
used until they are
wearing out.
Most people use paper
I know.
But I am not most
Different things matter
to me,
beauty before utility
you accuse me.
But I have lost the will
to keep it up,
the energy for what
I want.
I am eroded
by efficiency,
as always
the substance
creating its own