Tags

,

At seventeen I
Wasted
My days
At
A diner
On Janmar Road and
Scenic Highway.
Half asleep I
Got by
With red eyes
I
Missed my mother and
Sometimes
They’d leave a five
Because I’d smile–
Forced–though,
It worked
Like counterfeit
Like Profit
Like I did:
Around the clock
‘Til time’s up
Like Time Served
No handcuffs
Just blisters
From misters with
Dirty Knives–
Dropped like their flies–
And their wives
I suppose were
Half alive
Down the Street
On my repeat
But to me,
At seventeen?
I couldn’t see
Past rich dreams
Because
What’s Twenty Percent
If you’re content?
Fuckin’ change
In your wallet–
Is your power
Your Profit?
This is terrorism,
I promise:
This silver I polish
Reflects all
I’ll demolish.
And this
Would be
My last cigarette
But
The time feels too soon
See,
I’m not off til noon
Next Tuesday
But
Someday, I presume
I’ll kick
This habit
It’s last on my list
But yes, one day
I’ll quit.
I’ll quit it all…

Advertisements