Gold Stars

Our parents never gave us
Gold stars

So now we give ourselves
Gold stars

We get them for not fucking
Each other's lust partners

We get them for not screwing up
The healthy relationships we've managed to maintain
During Sundays in the rain
When we'd like to do the crossword puzzle
Of other bodies

Going up and across
Down and answer
The riddles
Posed by the New York Times

We get them for using the potty
And not partying too loud
On a Monday night

We get them for not fighting in the hallway
Praying we're not really
The way we make ourselves out to be
Being the best we can be
The rest of our being
Being only sub-par
And marring our reputations
With insubordination
And hallucinating
That we're better
Than we are

We get them then we hang them
Up on ceilings
Feeling proud of our adult behavior
Never wavering in the belief
That the relief we get
From not getting wet during the day
In the spray of mistakes
We used to make
Once again rearing
Their ugly heads

We sit in bed and we look up
At all our gold stars
Hung over the broken frames
Maimed knick knacks
And right below the ceiling cracks
Above the weighted-down bookshelves

Wondering if we've really earned them
Since we gave them
To ourselves