Poem of the day 11.04.08

bench warmer

at the end of the day
when the bones are sore
and the brain don’t want to work
anymore
and you’ve suffered the humiliation
of the masses
and you’ve suffered the demeaning
moans of the boss
and those afternoon beers have
worn off
and your feet are tired
and your ankles are swollen
and your thighs are chaffed
and the asshole is rough but
the shits are runny
and the car wont start right
and the music is no good
and the sky is already growing dark
and the dinner is bland
and you’re too tired to fuck so you
sit there and drink
and there’s nothing good on the
tv
and all the books have failed you
and you can’t get the poem down
the way it sounded in your head
that morning
and sirens hiss on city streets
and the neighbor’s lights illuminate
your bedroom like searchlights
and you can’t sleep
and the unceasing pain and fear
that you are a bench warmer in this life
wakes you up at 2 a.m.
and the new day
the same day
everyday
is hours away from rearing its ugly
head
stop and wonder
is it worth all of this?
for just a scrap of bread and a leaking roof?