workman’s lament

i wonder if one day i’ll hang up my work boots

never to wear them again

me and my comfortable vans from then on out

or will i be that old angry man

barely able to tie my boots

or bend over without pain

dreaming of retirement that will only come with a box in the ground

working until all that is left is grit and boiling resentment

i’d be content with a little place nestled up to a mountain in idaho or washington

all i need is pens and paper

i’d take internet though

if i can’t scavenge it from nature

buy from amazon

a garden with herbs and onions and carrots and spinach

maybe a plot of potatoes

grow flowers on hanging beds by the windows

that doesn’t sound so bad

but no

i’ll more than likely die on the job

screaming profanity laced vitriol in the face of whatever son of a bitch messed up today

gnarled fingers struggling with shoelaces on worn old boots

angry at the world and ready for it to end

dreaming about a garden i’ll never plant

vegetables i’ll never eat

thinking if i play my cards right next year i’ll retire

but next year never comes

just me

alone

writing for a nonliving

and working til i’m dead

16 thoughts on “workman’s lament

  1. I want to link you to a thing because your house on the mountain reminded me of someone I knew. And he’s pretty happy 🙂
    I don’t write many true story thing in in prose style, or rather I don’t typically tell anyone they’re true stories, 😬 lol

    Liked by 1 person

  2. i did this. walked away from it & planted a garden. got some sheep, goats, poultry, & bees.
    i’m flat-ass broke & have to be very creative with my spending–but most days i never put on a pair of shoes.

    Liked by 2 people

      1. i noticed when i waited tables, the more i made, the less i wanted to tip out my co-workers…however, the less i made the more generous i was. so by having no money, i am avoiding becoming an asshole. (one of my many theories)

        Liked by 1 person

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