I’m Okay

Sorry for the delay.
I can only say
it stinks when I write.
And it stinks when I don’t.
It seems like
a chore to communicate.
I know you’d
like to know
how it’s going
with my new job.
So would I.

Let’s just say
I’ve been
a little “constipated.”
Mentally.
I can’t think.
I can’t write.
If I were home
I’d tell you
About my torn cuticle
and mental Exlax.
Not now.

Things are different, here
I’m different, here.
Okay, so maybe
Springfield, Illinois
isn’t great.
It’s no Chicago.
But it is someplace, else.
Someplace other than
Rogers Falls, Indiana.
The little hole
where you live,
and I used to,
is downright small.

I’m getting
big in the head.
Six months
and I’m getting
big in the head.
I promised
I’d never do that.
Yet, now I’m doing just that.
Sorry—I mean it sincerely.

It’s just I expected
more.
Something special.
And nothing special
ever happens in Rogers Falls.
Don’t cry.
You’re special.
You happened.
That’s why we
get along so well.

I know you understand.
You always do.
Isn’t that odd:
I know 25 people.
But you’re the one
who understands.
The only person
I can speak with.
As the saying goes,
I’m okay.
You’re okay.
We’re all okay.
Or is it …

I scream,
you scream,
we all…”