by Jordan Reed

(not a haiku, still good)

The first thing I thought was “who in the hell gives a fuck about the migration patterns of Canadian Geese?!” And, the sad thing is, there’s, at least, 1 person who does, and she’s unrealistically excited because she now has a little over over an hour (a baker’s hour) to fill our heads with useless information that, I’m sure, we’re all going to actively purge. Her old, stained sweater, it looks like a pair of pre-distressed jeans, or a dumbass hat with a dumbass ripped brim, or something else that’s old, or the bottom corners of a couch of a cat owner, or the tattered jeans of that sexually ambiguous goth kid who sits a few rows down from me who ALWAYS smells like a shitty candle, or something else that should’ve been thrown out years ago, or something else that’s old. This is her time to shine. I’m usually a really nice guy.