poem of the day 08.11.09

slumping

i am at day one
of a six-day work week
and we are on the couch
in the sweat of august
and you pour me a drink
while i tell you
i don’t think i can make it
i don’t know how much
more of this i can do
getting up at five in the morning
to pound out redundancy
the job, the hours of public servitude
the general daymare of dealing
with the demands of the masses
coming home to this apartment
with the swirl of cat hair floating around
the soft odor of street-side garbage
and cat shit permeating the air
the same foods made on the same days
the only respite our once a week
trip to the bar to swim in the misery
and joy of others
i tell you that i think i’m going mad again
although i don’t know what
i expect you to say in response
i tell you that i might not
make the vacation in october
that the world might have gotten to me by then
i tell you to just burn me up
and toss me in an old coffee can,
scatter me in a lonely alleyway
and you tell me it is only two months
and i smile and say don’t worry about me
anyway because
i’m just being dramatic for drama’s sake
and who ever gets enough drama in this world?
it’ll be all right
all right, i say
while we drink our sweating drinks
my soul headed tantivy toward
the next thing anchoring to bring me down
because when misery flows
it bubbles up so much
and who knows what all right means, anyway?