This poem is pretty self-explanatory and was written during a time last fall where I felt trapped and couldn’t write (or think) about anything else.

One of the craft tendencies I have in my work is to mimic and incorporate social media terms, slang, and format. As someone who works in digital media for my day job, I find our world of Instagram, Facebook, and beyond to be fascinatingly intertwined with art. While there are many elements of social media I think are deeply problematic, it nevertheless has shaped our modern world. I wanted to form the poem to look like a string of emails or Skype messages similar to how many of our “work from home” conversations occur. While part of me feels conflicted about letting social media seep into my poetry, I also think it’s a massive indicator of how I (and my generation) have been raised within media and art.

2 Weeks Notice

you have to understand, for me it’s different.

I am the underdog, the mega girlboss who could.

hands shake above a notepad, pen in hand,

responses concise and

useless. your dream isn’t scheduled to arrive yet,

remember all of those tiny missteps I overlooked, let you take take take a vacation?

the holiday wine and the wfh sick days and how good I used to be?

and what am I? what am I if not doing the exactsamething.

twenty-five with past dues and tow requests and “urgents” and a half education

ignoring prescription pickups and phone calls and

dinner dates and dentist appointments and

maybe it was time I finally went in for a hair cut and the last call

to my grandmother was weeks ago

and so renews my Zoom premium membership.

we will

crumble

this will
ripple

you can’t, there’s just

no way to leave

the words are slower this time, maybe she’ll understand better

like the children, like the followers on our whitewashed

Instagram screen.

I

I am not

I wish I knew how to say more

to stay more

but I am not doing well.

I mean, it’s just, I don’t think

and I am terribly sorry to hear that

you’re letting us down, you know how this works

the writer has left the conversation.