Poetry Lesson (A Poem)

After the best party, I buy bagels and Jew fish for the sleeping family.
Throw a load of Landry in the wash.
Think about a boy and a baby, raising it singly.
Go to work to edit the paper, then write the story.
The bitch on the phone is not cooperating - she doesn't want to talk.
I wonder about my health, my family's, the faceless kids in Africa.
Typos.
My sister, the first one, is going to war.
My boss gets a pace-maker.
My heart beats like a bongo. I imagine yours.
Too many red lights today.
Throw the wash in the dryer.
Tell Vaughn his hair looks clean, trimmed and sexy.
What am I forgetting? What am I neglecting?
Take a satisfying shit.
First, water the girl, then the creeping ivy, then the African violet.
You're going to forget. Don't do that.
I'm horny, are you?
If it wasn't for the setting, there would be no plot or characters. Thank you, Vaughn.
Did you ever think maybe people simply don't care? You should.
There are all the doors. Good thing I took a walk.
My arms float.
I wonder how Mike is.
All the fruit rots after it spreads its seeds.
A bird flies up the moment I kick the apple.
I pee and leave open the door.
Property owners are always busy.
Moments before the shrubs cover the sidewalk, I look up. Twice. The third time, I don't look up.
Steve says he'll call, and doesn't. Then he does.
A thought crosses me: poetry, like religion, fills in where science has not yet stepped.