Why I Have Not Submitted My Poem to Your Magazine
by E. A. Haley

Because I am typing this on a laptop stand on my couch
at 6:48 p.m. and eating a now cold slice of previously frozen pizza,
and this is the first meal I have eaten all day.

Because I am technically at work for another hour and a half,
and by the time I am through my eyes will be too sore
to look at my screen anymore without squinting out tears.

Because I have cracked my neck approximately
fifty thousand times today and it keeps popping,
synovial fluid audibly bursting into a new state of matter.

Because my cat has used my clean laundry
as a litterbox for the second time this week,
marking the third trip to the washer I will make in as many days.

Because I have no children, and somehow
this makes me more ashamed of my exhaustion
than any stern talk from my mother ever will.

Because I have no children: instead, I have a cat
that pees in my clean laundry basket
when I have just pulled the clothes from the dryer.

(Which I have never seen a child do!)

Because I did not write enough today or any day,
and if I did write enough, it was not very good.
This is what I tell myself as I binge netflix.

Because the internet is down,
and what is the point of writing
if you cannot be distracted from it most of the time.

Because my shoulders ache
and the tylenol I take to relieve them does not work,
and they are still sore even after I ice them.

Because I have read one poem,
from your magazine’s homepage,
and it was very good.

Because I read another poem,
from somewhere else on your website,
and I didn’t understand it and felt stupid.

Because I scrolled and scrolled and saw so many
names: edward and eric and robert and sean,
and james and steve and donald (twice) and one caroline.

Because I have emails to send and rooms to clean,
and when my husband comes home
I will cook him dinner and ask him about his day.

Because I resent these tasks and will tell my husband
that I have to keep working, and he will have
the audacity to make me accountable for this statement.

Because I have read my poems,
in front of a mirror, and they were
not very good.

Because the dog downstairs
will not SHUT UP, he has barked for an hour
and shows no signs of stopping.

Oh. He stopped.

E.A. Haley (She/They) is an armchair playwright and poet with a flair for the dramatic. In addition to plays, they also write poetry, essays, and many, many lists. They have been previously published by Touchstone Literary Magazine. Follow them on Twitter.

Photo by Thirdman.