An Honest Day’s Work

Leaving, coming, staying put.
Going around the long way
Is sometimes worth doing.
Taking time to look at the scenery,

Even if the scenery is
The latest road construction.
Look at the men.
See their faces.

Think about what it takes for them
To do an honest days work,
To put food on the table,
To pay the doctor bill,

For their sick child at home,
Who is not covered by insurance
Because her father’s employer
Doesn’t think it’s important enough

To provide benefits
For his employees.
And when he has finished
At that job, he goes home,

Takes a shower, and then goes
To his other job as a janitor
At a local private business,
Trying to be friendly and polite

To all the employees
As they leave their only job
To go home to rest
And spend time with their families,

While he is just beginning
Several hours
Of emptying trash cans
And mopping floors.

Sometimes life just isn’t fair.

Poetry is Not the Giving Tree

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.
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!