Rather than the plan
of beating the dawn
and dashing to the river
moving a friend
racing back north
and accomplishing countless tasks
before the light,
I broke at noon
with masturbation, comics,
crackers and cheese,
plans be damned.

Is this, then,
the New Year,
with all its potential and opportunity
crushed by a late night
and a rainy morn?

Am I defeated
by the first conflict,
at the first sight of blood?
Is that what I’m made of
under these new conditions?
Is this all of my resolve today?

Shit, maybe.

About Jonathan Berger

I used to write quite a bit more.
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