Done With It

Finally shut the thing.

Someone said I had to read it.

Months it sat, then months I picked at it,

a chore, not a pleasure.

Turned the last page.

Nothing there.

Just the publisher's mark,

a blank sheet after that.

Heavy in my lap,

a dead weight.

No surge, no thought.

Just the hollow quiet

of being done with something

that changed nothing.