Me and Ennui


He accused me of being mentally
lazy. Which wasn’t true, not fully,
because what I am is fundamentally

lazy. Which means that my ass
has a taproot and that my ass—
umptions are mired in a morass

of self-regarding half-truths.
Blame it on my uncouth
environs. Blame it on youth

or the views of my parents.
Blame it on my aberrant
behaviour, the apparent

dissolution of my cohort’s esprit,
an overfond embrace of entropic ennui—
and hell, why not blame it on me.

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