Tuesday, January 6, 2015

poem of the day 01.06.15

little men

the place was
as big as a warehouse
but there was nowhere for me to hide from him
it seemed that he came looking specifically for me
any wine spill or any shit on the bathroom floor
they were mine by default
the piles of garbage and broken bottles
my glittering kingdom to clean up
there was always something wrong
with the way i looked
i was never shaved close enough for him
there was always some kind of stain on my pants
is that ketchup or blood? he was apt to ask me
sometimes it was both
he liked to sniff the air when i walked by
then shouted, i can smell the beer on you
said i needed to do something
about my red and bloodshot eyes
buy drops or something, he’d spit at me
i used to watch him come out of that stinking office of his
hands on his hips, surveying his empire
looking for me or someone else to bully
i wished that he was dumb enough
to cross against the light during his lunch
some days i wished
that i was brave enough to do the same
but usually i just went to the bar
he had his dashed dreams
tacked onto the wall in his office
pictures of all of the rock gods that he was never going to be
just like i had pictures of writers on mine
he looked like napoleon but with none of the flair
really he was just a little man
who’d wasted twenty-five years in retail
taking shit from customers and the store owner
who had to go home and live with himself
while i sat across from him
in a stiff chair that had lost half of its stuffing
waiting to be dressed down again
for some infraction
thinking, shit,
i’m an even smaller man
than he.

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