My Brother Dan, Who Doesn't Do Drugs

Hey, Mom.
I don't smoke too much weed.
I used to think I smoke too much weed.
You used to ask me how often
I sit down, roll up, and take off.
I'm glad you don't do that anymore,
because I still don't have an answer.
Counting the times doesn't come to mind;
it isn't like that- I'm just not like that.
I like to hit a bong before going shopping, Mom.
Visit a vape before taking the train, Mom.
Roast a bowl before responding to emails, Mom.
Bang a blunt before both breakfast and lunch, Mom.
Join hands with a crossjoint just to listen to music, Mom.
Laugh like a crackhead after anything involving a gas mask, Mom.
Wrestle with a clip while taking a shit, Mom. So,
don't ask me how many times a week I smoke weed
as if anyone on earth could ever handle that kind of math.
And don't worry about Dan, who moves in with me this month,
because we both love you. I love you.
I love weed
but I love you, too.


From our last class! My two lies were (1) Maybe I smoke too much weed and (2) My brother and I will never have anything in common. Enjoy!