Poetry For the Common Man

It's 3 P.M, Sitting, staring at the reruns of Jeopardy and Seinfield a microwave steak and some potatoes sit gingerly on the tray, crunchy and frozen.... It's 5 P.M., a bottle of room temperature beer cuddles itself around my hands some potato chips spread across my lap..... the television remote and I sit inches apart yet, the separation feels like miles It's 7 P.M., cold, rusty water pelts my naked flesh the bath towels feel like steel wool every little fiber, scratching and tearing at my skin the soap is as tough as rubber...... It's 9 P.M, bed bugs have swarmed my mattress scratching and biting, I smash one and a million more follow some are flat and dry and some explode with leaking blood.... It's 11 P.M. I slip into my dungarees, there's a urine spot in the middle of the seams.... my shovel is rusty.... the van leaks exhaust and it bleeds gasoline It's 1 A.M., I gaze at the tombstones and they gaze back a foggy midst looms from the hills, it's raining.... a flash of lighting strikes, bright as the sun itself thunder rumbles the earth..... It's 3 A.M., strolling by the red light district a back alley blowjob, no condoms.... ten dollars for one hour, twenty for two I only have five..... It's 5 A.M. the sun begins to rise beer bottles pilled at my door saliva, drying at the seams of my mouth.... back into my bug infested abode.....