Dear World

Just yesterday as I was mowing the lawn
I realized that I no longer have the patience for a house plant.
Maybe patience is the wrong word.
Maybe it's energy.
Is it motivation?
When I think of the effort required,
the work,
I just don't want to do it.
There's probably something significant there,
the symptoms of a much deeper problem.

Pardon my intrusiveness.
I guess that's the sort of thing
that people really don't want you to share,
regardless of what they say about friendship and trust
and openness.
But the truth is,
I never really liked you that much anyway.
I never really liked you at all.
I was just being kind
in an inoffensive sort of way.