Teach Me How To Play Guitar

It’s aching to be something else:
well now it is here—not willing
to leave anytime soon.
So let my foot drag over the gentle tiles as
I verse the door
and try to escape.

The shade just makes it to the window and erases
the color from the wallpaper and
paints it dim—dim
like the transparent bags that line
the shelves and I look to stop—
to see and there are just bags,
bags, bags,
bags under my knees and bags here and in my
socks and drawers in my desk and
my dragging bag covered foot races
the dust mites and spilled lemonade
that I signed my name in case I become
famous.