poem of the day 12.31.12

fiscal cliff

there was a time

when my old man

had to work two jobs to help support us

between he and my mother that was three jobs

struggling to pay rent and bills on time

packing lunches and making dinner

buying new clothing

for two oblivious boys

who they’d chosen to shove into catholic school

for a dose of morality

i don’t even remember what the old man did

at this second job

except that he didn’t have to wear a shirt and tie

like he did for the morning one

which i thought that was getting off easy

because i had to wear dress clothes in the fifth grade

and there was a time

that my mother didn’t have enough money for bread

and had to bum it off of me and my piggy bank

promising to pay me back by friday

as we marched through the january cold

to catch the grocery store before it closed

she promised me

as if i were her bookie or something

oh, those blessed fridays of paycheck salvation

my brother and i, we didn’t know nike or polo

from a hole in the ground

but there was always thanksgiving and christmas

a hot meal on the table every night

so neither of us had a clue

we thought the tears and the arguments were about something else

when i got older and shed my immortal coil

over-educated and unmarketable

dodging student loan sharks

tact that worthless piece of university paper on my wall

when it was my turn to wonder

now what?

there were bad paychecks and good ones

the good ones meant dinner out with my girlfriend

a used book or a used cd to sell again when money got tight

the bad ones meant the rent got paid

and you kept a count of your cigarettes for the next two weeks

but ghetto smokes on balconies could last a lifetime

watching the city an amusement unparalleled

and the laughs kept on coming through the low bank balances

and cheap pasta dinners

it never seemed as bad as it was

as child or as an adult

i never felt broke or that i was lacking

it always seemed like no matter what

that we were getting there

me

my family

my love and my friends

all of us hard and honest people

putting food on tables and punching clocks

struggling for rent and small joys

the ones who built this country up from the ground

this troubled promised land that our leaders

with their expensive suits and pensions

those pretty corporate chains around their necks

so hungrily want

to mash back into

unrecognizable

dirt.