Chillin’ in my chair,
Trying not to stare
Into the distance
As I feel my stance
Wobbly beneath me.
A busy day, costly
To my mind and body.
But brings home for thrifty
Purchases of necessities.
Do you blame me
For leaving early
Today? Every
Day, I give my energy
To my company,
Hell or high sea.
Sometimes I see
How it rearranges me.
I wonder if there could be
Some other job for me,
But it’s not likely.
So, even though
I don’t say no
To opportunity,
My situation tires me.
Could there be
Another way for me
To make money?
Poetry is not the Giving Tree
That I wish it could be.
Skeptically,
You look at me,
Saying, “But it could be!”
Oh, Poetry!
How you edify me!
But you don’t feed me.
Slinking slowly
Out of reality,
I have a fantasy
Of how it could be,
But, alas, I am not free
To write constantly.
I must work to see
My paycheck biweekly
Deposited, usually.
So you ask me,
“Don’t you want to be
All that you could be?”
It is enough for me
To pay my usury.
My creditors love me
For my money,
Not my poetry!
