poem of the day 11.17.08

poem for a lost saturday night

sitting at the work desk
toward the close of another
fruitless night
is a bitter joy
but it has nothing on a day off,
half drunk and half naked
on the living room couch
the taste of another stolen cigarette on my tongue,
the next beer waiting for me
to crack the top,
paganini on the stereo telling me to hold on
just a bit longer;
the world not as bad
as what it looks like
sitting at the work desk
toward the close of another
fruitless night.