(by request – “my period snuck up on me at work today” – I didn’t want to offend anyone’s sensibilities, but, like, it is a request and that’s life, and you can bet Emily Dickinson wanted to write this poem one million times as she sat in her house and chowed down on salty snacks, clutching her stomach, and kicking out people who came to give her more ink or whatever)
My period snuck up on me at work —
It crept up behind me on little cloven feet
And tapped me on the shoulder
Yesterday it slept.
Alone and peaceful it dreamt of me.
And all the fun we have together
Every fourth Thursday at three o’clock.
Today I take its hand and we
Embrace as long-lost friends might do —
It as the prodigal son,
And me as the bitchy complainer
– with a bottle of Advil
– and circles under my eyes
– and a “No can do” attitude.