Incorpoweighted

There is no greater feeling
than starting to doze off in a chair
to the tune of weekend afternoon basketball—
the dribbling, bouncing lullaby,
rhythmic back and forth from one court end
to the other. Halftime.

How we must all be horse girls™—
ponytails mid-gallop,
fully ingrained, wanting a mane n’ tail,
so we buy the same shampoo
and conditioner, hoping to wash
the human off us,
equine muscles ready
to flex beneath the skin. 

We are all dopamine sluts,
grasping at the next thing
to feel good and free.

Wake up in the middle of a commercial,
that exact snack already waiting
on the table beside you.