Ode to Zilch

Oh, Nothing! You sly, elusive spud, You’re the star of this poem (though technically dud). You haunt empty fridges, blank quizzes, and minds, The gap where my keys hide and my weekend plans wind. You’re the punchline of vacuums, the muse of bare shelves, The reason I’m talking to lamps by myself. You’re the “E” in my bank account, crisp and austere, The punch I forgot in my joke over here. Some say you’re profound—philosophers swoon, But let’s be real: you’re a nap’s favorite tune. You’re the silence between a bad pun and “Huh?”, The plot of a mime’s TED Talk—oh, brother, enough! You wear pajamas daily, yet still blend right in, A champion of naps, but you never quite win. You’re the cloudless blue sky with no bird, plane, or flair, The “U up?” text sent to a cactus. Bold. Rare. So here’s to you, Nothing, you cheeky old void, The world’s quietest meme, forever deployed. Though poets may weep for your depth, I insist: You’re the *something* I missed… wait. Dang. Plot twist! --- P.S. If you liked this poem, pay me in air. (It’s fitting, since Nothing and I split despair.)