the ceiling of
the hotel was not
as accommodating
as the one at
home
it seemed to find
my anxiety to be
too much to
listen to

so after a fitful
night of worrying
i skipped breakfast
raced to meet the
moving truck at
eight o’clock sharp
now at nine i find
myself yawning with
a grumbling tummy
as the truck is
nowhere to be found

sitting on a
step ladder
listening to
mundane laments
that echo my own
internal quibbles
wondering why my
wandering sighs
are left to circle
as i am falling
into introspection
which is never a
place for a fool

did you imagine
yourself as a child
sitting in a basement
waiting on a truck
to install parcel lockers
as a means to survival
that you would be
still struggling to
make ends meet
writing poetry that
the world ignores
trying to sell books
no one will ever read
working to make your
boss a bigger bonus
snatching failure from
the rancid mouth of
existence as the
dominos fall ever closer
to where i sit

on a step ladder with
nothing but time
a heavy mind as my
heart leaks poetry
hoping to reach her
before the gears grind
me into a pulp to be
reconstituted as a
more efficient worker
spending less time in
the ocean of words
dreaming of drowning
and more time in a
desert of dead dreams
wondering where it all
took a sharp turn
towards whatever this is
alone in a basement
in another town far from
home and even farther
from your embrace