This year I will not hibernate
I will not flee the cold,
Smother myself in covers,
Or bathe in the florescent glow of so many screens

This year, I will lift my quarantine
Take my bronchitis
Out for a night at the theater
Introduce it to patrons at the diner

I will not catch up on my reading
My countertops will fill with dust
My laundry will spill over the basket
My electric bill will stay in the double digits

I will write my novel
On bar napkins
On the backs of matchbooks
I will text it to myself

I will not get home at a reasonable hour
My fridge will lay barren
My couch will lose its groove
Noise complaints will pass by undocumented

I will wander up the block
With no mind for ice
My feet will keep the rhythm
As I sing my unrecorded works

I will not read studies on
Seasonal Affective Disorder
I will not mark the date
For the saddest day of the year

I will talk to strangers
They will ask where I came from
I will be the subject of gossip
I will use my phone as a phone

I will not be home for Christmas
My New Year’s resolution
Will be to make no further resolutions
Valentines Day can pick on someone else

I will use the phrase,
“I’m kind of a big deal”
At least once
With a straight face

If I can’t find the sun
If it goes down before
I get off the clock
I will steer toward the brightest thing I can find

And when the time comes
To peek my head out of my cave
To see my own shadow
I will step all over that mother fucker