Poems Worth a Shit

Macaroni Again
I can’t find the reset button.
It’s someplace over here.
Whoever said X marks the spot
did not understand the human condition.

I just keep on shedding my cells, skin after skin,
as if there were hope of anything other.
A concrete apron bleached by sunlight.
Or even better, a few voices in another room,
solemn and resigned, discussing my condition.