On April Fools' Day I leave a message at work
that I'm not coming in,
that I forgot my employee number,
and that the weather sucks.
My job with the electric co.
will be there tomorrow.
The money lost I paid
for this poem and others.
The 1st poem of the day was brilliant.
I put a parenthesis around
a mosquito I smashed in my notebook.
I don't blame you for not buying that one,
for not caring what I did with this thread and that needle.
How could I expect you to pay for this poem?
Shouldn't it be free
while you pay the electric bill,
dirty from digging,
driving crane buckets the size of houses
into the ground in the middle of a strip mine
in the middle of nowhere?