By Sara Adams

I have all of the typical Western diseases,
the kind that middle aged guys with boats wear.
I’m a liar, I admit it.

I’m quiet. 

I’m champagne flowing like rivers, 
I’m Boo gaps in between the noise. 
I’m “Cool,” on a hot air balloon.

I’m not expected to respond to people who are talking to me.




AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is a found poem constructed from responses to an anonymous online survey I created and posted on Craigslist. The questions on the survey were:

  • What would you do if you went to a museum and found a portrait of yourself on the wall?
  • What are the worst type of sunglasses?
  • What’s the best thing about being underwater?
  • If you could put any post-it on anything, what would it say and what would you put it on?
  • What’s your most pressing worry at this very moment?

Sara Adams is a Montessori teacher in Portland, Oregon. She has poetry and fiction in Shampoo Poetry, and/or, tNY Press's Electronic Encyclopedia of Experimental Literature, and DIAGRAM (forthcoming). She also co-wrote a New Translation of Twilight, available at www.fredwardbound.com

© 2015