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Depression (blues in the key of me)

I am footsore-limping and
unsightly in one red stiletto
and one tennis shoe. Fashion
police have declared me
a crime scene, and draw a
chalk outline around my poor
first impression.

I looked to quench my thirst
with a dipperful of cool water.
Instead, my bucket scoops up
mud, toadstools, tadpoles, tears.
The garden hose has gone on
strike and the hummingbird
feeder is out of Kool-Aid.

I was promised to the moon
but got impatient and eloped
with the porch light instead.
Our contempt flickers on and
off, but we're staying together
for the moths. Disappointment
ensues.

In my dreams, it's always finals
and I've never studied. I tear
through Scantrons with my number
3 pencil, while students laugh
at me for showing up at school
wearing clothes. Air conditioning
swats at the heat.

And New Age books are coughing
at me meaningfully from shelves:
"Think your way to success!"
I refuse out of sheer principle.
Depression has been with me
for so long. I don't want it to
cry alone.

Learn more about this author, Sarah Torribio.
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