Internet Poetry

My houseplant, Walter, is getting over anxious.

He leans so hard toward sunlight he’s getting a stiff neck.
Every morning he rehearses: “I am zen, I am still.”
Then the kettle clicks off and he flinches, making
me think he was mistreated badly at his nursery.

I tell him, gently, “It’s fine, Walter. Breathe.”
So he unfurls a new leaf with theatrical timing,
to convince me he can turn one over anytime.

Every evening he sighs (quietly; he’s very polite) and declares,
“Tomorrow I’ll be calmer.”
And I swear he stares at the light on my modem
then winks, because obviously that’s the real drama.