You were a bad book
and I had a lot of trouble with you
from start to finish.
At the start
I couldn’t understand
what you were supposed to be about
and at the end
I couldn’t understand what you were supposed to be about either
but in a different way.
You changed directions a lot
and seemed to tell very a varied story
some of them interesting
none of them consistent.

Your chapter headings
were petty awkward
too.

I wish there had been
a live Comments Section
while I was reading
that I could have gone to
and provided you my complaints, book.
Maybe with a speedy customer service department
my issues could have been resolved
by the time I reached novel’s end.
That would have been pretty cool, right?

But no.
You finished…
not the way I expected
– because you didn’t make any sense, really.
But you finished in an unsatisfactory manner
which is kind of how you started
and I should have known better
and I kind of wish I’d bailed on you earlier, book
but my mother taught me not to give up
so I read you to the bitter end
and now here we are
and damn
I’m glad I didn’t buy you
and the library’ll take you back
and soon I won’t have to look at you again
until they eventually make you
into Oscar-fodder.