pretty books

a poem

I’m flipping through these ugly things
that I don’t really want, but they’re on sale:
Mark off eight glasses of water
one thing good, one thing bad
accomplishments today, strategy for tomorrow
dreams and hopes, the cover says.
God, who are these for?

A kid comes flying down the aisle
cackling like a maniac escaped
“No, no, I don’t want to! I don’t want to!”
His mother rockets behind
hitting all the harsh consonants she can find
laughter keeps breaking them apart.

Per the script, I’m allowed to be annoyed.
Aren’t I supposed to be left in my peace
to pick out my bubblegum adult stationary
with two hundred bonus motivational stickers?

A shriek, she’s found him!
She’s whispering out of breath and full volume
(Don’t think I can catch any of it,
not sure I could if it was English)
Her sentences can’t stop cracking up,
she keeps starting over.

I think I just like buying pretty books.
I never use these damn planners.

He protests, but today’s battle is lost:
“You can’t make me, you can’t make me!”