Worse Things
Joshua Lindenbaum


—The face of boredom--
 Eyes as glazed as a
freshly-made skating rink--
Two marbles sitting
in their orbital enclosures.
A semi-loose fist
pushing up skin into folds
creating epidermic pockets. 
—The face of boredom—

  His mom always said:
“There are worse things
than being bored.”

The prison’s floor
was not impressed by the amount
of push-ups he administered.
In fact, it looked on indifferently with its
dull, grey, blunt eyes.

The cold bars never
flutter,
no matter how long its
inhabitant grips
the metal structure--
nor do the walls
miss a step
as he begins to speak to them;
Muttering small talk
never produced an echo.
He claims that they’re closing in on him
when they very well know,
they’re stationary as ever--
if not more so. 

Nor did the cell blink
when he cleverly crafted a rope
made out of elastic waist bands,
knotted it to the top of the bars
where two cold poles crossed,
held together by skilled welds
and hung himself.

His mom always said:
“There are worse things
than being bored.”