Me and Ennui
He accused me of being mentally
lazy. Which wasn’t true, not fully,
because what I am is fundamentally
lazy. Which means that my ass
has a taproot and that my ass-
umptions are mired in a morass
of self-regarding half-truths.
Blame it on my uncouth
environs. Blame it on youth
or the views of my parents.
Blame it on my aberrant
behaviour, the apparent
dissolution of my cohort’s esprit,
an overfond embrace of entropic ennui—
and hell, why not blame it on me.