Hidden Agenda

Oh shit.
What
was I supposed to do today.
I wish I had my book
with scrawls and spirals and squares and holes
and metal rings that hold my week together
because I'm too weak to remember.
The back of my hand works just as well
your back, a finger, a face
a tongue pulled out with 1-inch margins
STAY INSIDE THE LINES.
Or get in line.
Everyone is in line to get,
their answer book,
anxious to get the answers to
"what was I supposed to do this week?"
Turning in line to one another before they get to the front,
lips leaving ghost-light trails of red
because they're talking too fast,
about "what was I supposed to do today."
"I don't know, turn around...
stare ahead...
that's right.
That's what you're supposed to do today."