poem of the day 08.01.11

chain reactions

it is one of those mornings
where you’re stuck
in the humidity and heat
where you wish that this summer
would die already
you are happy that football is back
but an autumn day
seems like a million years from now
and you start thinking about the job
you get trapped in work thoughts as you walk
your mind thinking, holy shit,
if i remain relatively healthy
i’m probably going to have to do this
for the next twenty-five to thirty years
it is a sick thought
it is debilitating
you pray for a gun or the noose
you curse your parents for their lack of wealth
curse yourself for lack of brains or ambition
think of yourself as a child waiting to get older
you suddenly hate this child
remember that today is your grandmother’s birthday
you remember the way that she died
comatose and heaving with bedsores
and at the street corner
you wait for the next available car
to jump in front of
at the job it is no easier
the day is lazy the people are lazier
sitting at their work stations
talking on their cell phones or playing
video games
they complain and blame you for everything
you wonder where the boss is
it dawns on you that you are the boss
how did this happen?
misfortune?
these people are your problem
but you don’t want them
you don’t even want to know them
you just want to pass the time
because there is whiskey and beer at home
a soft couch and something decent to read
you do not care about the laziness of humanity
you are lazy
you see these people more than you do your wife
staring at your idle co-workers
you feel like going mad
you think, christ, this world is royally fucked up
you want to know who made it this way
who decided to put all of these virtual strangers together
under fluorescent lights
killing their dreams
while sucking asbestos and stale filtered air conditioning
you want to find this person
so that you can go out and slaughter him like a pig
you think you might as well get a mirror
because no one bought and sold you this way
but yourself
you think about fleeing
you wonder about other cities and towns
other lives than this one
still, you have those bills to pay
and your shoes are wearing through the bottoms again
after the job, you stand at the bus stop with the other zombies
their faces dull and dead just like yours
name brand clothing justifying forty-hours a week
of selling their souls
the group of you waiting
for the evening express bus home
waiting on bland meals
bland entertainment
blogs and social networks
bad neighbors
conversation and unsatisfactory sleep
at the corner of 86th and devastation
there is a car accident
one pretty expensive car smacks into another
the people inside frown
their day as ruined as yours
a man gets out of his black bmw holding his head
he shouts no, no, no
into the yellow hazy sky
to you he looks like a prophet
in his tank top and red shorts
he shouts why, why, why
he’s saying exactly what you’ve
been wanting to say all day long.