The Time

by Foster Gareau

weather is
bad. Good
luck is

You did it
on purpose. Not
wanting to

different 
person. Just 
countable

to tell  
you I’m
not miserable. You

thought
I chose my
sadness

made 
music
un—

The killing of
time 
leaves

ago. Killing
space
leaves

Collapse the
now
and here. Yoke

to use a
planner. You
brought

The time is
now,
as usual. The

lost. You 
missed your
train. 

arrive 
at sunset, a 
slightly

days 
ago 
I tried 

can’t blame 
me
for that. You

over your joy. You
thought
the flute

aided. The 
train
is late. 

bodies: bodies
to stash
in moments

nothing: nothing
to fill
with more.

the there
and then. You
ought

this
on
yourself.

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ABOUT THE CREATOR

Photo credit: Gustavo Salinas @mucho.gustavo

Foster Gareau is a queer French-Canadian poet, sentimentalist, former-member of the unhoused and alcoholic in recovery with a degree in Cinema Studies. He was shortlisted for the 2025 Vallum Chapbook Award and his work appears or is forthcoming in PRISM international, & Change, yolk literary, and Soliloquies Anthology. He writes every day.

Instagram: @feigns

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