Dear Mercury retrograde,
Is it fair that you simply get to regress while we all have to move forward?
Being the planet of communication, the way in which you’ve moved this week has been
the same as the messy and neglectful roommate that will settle all important arguments
through text, and I am slightly dyslexic.
Dear Mercury retrograde,
I feel like my body has been taken over by a wreck-less puppeteer and I hate my
butthole being touched.
I’ve been transported to a parallel universe where there are suddenly wasps in my
house.
I killed 10 wasps in my house today.
The source was from a window screen that was bent just enough to let them fly in.
Did you know that window screens are something you now must make by hand?
I figured that a Home Depot while also realizing I left my roommates dog outside.
That was amazing for my nerves.
Dear mercury retrograde,
The 40-dollar speeding ticket for only doing 10 over was a nice touch.
My keys getting locked in my car and then calling AAA to find out that my insurance
lapsed last week was adorable.
I’m assuming the goal was to drive me nuts not to my final destination.
Where is my drivers license by the way.
Dear Mercury Retrograde,
Is hysterical crying a love language of yours?
If so, I think you might be a sadist in like the least hot Disney villain kind of way.
I shat myself on Wednesday when you went direct.
No no, my package from Amazon getting here sooner than expected does not make up
for it.
I just wanted to enjoy a taco truck burrito, but it just seems like this poem was destined
to be the only solid thing I would produce for the next 72 hours.
I know I know; it’s supposed to be something we all go through as a collective.
But if you knew exactly how many poop jokes, I’ve had to make about myself this week
you’d feel like you were being personally victimized by Regina George too.
Dear mercury retrograde,
Who gifted you, my voodoo doll?
I now believe in black magic.
My mercury is in libra and a bitch just wants some god damn stability.
Like what I would love to happen to my hormones because acne as an adult is just
uncomfortable and expensive.
Dear mercury retrograde,
You better be done.
Because I’m trying to figure out a way to end this poem and I can’t think of anything
decent.
I blame you.
Sincerely, Bardo.
Ps: what is the opposite of thoughts and prayers.
This is incredible. Dead