I relate to Kurt Cobain’s suicide note. It reminds me of
my psychiatrist calling me a joy to work with. Never mind.
Remembering the date of people’s birthdays used to be half the fun.
They have an app for that now. Never mind.
I chant my name over and over until it loses meaning.
He used to call me by that string of letters. Him-who? Never mind.
Always misbehave. Always a physical act of the body.
No-time brain. Let it go. Much less. Let alone. Never mind.
They make “Gunshots Before Twats” t-shirts and rate films “X”
for breastfeeding, as if kids can’t pull down their…never mind.
by Lauren Yates