Working

I could be an astronaut. Or a doctor. Or a box of strawberries at the store. Molding away. If there was such a thing as respect… It would probably take a high paying job to earn it. It’s a little too “out there” for me. Hope, journeys, and respect. Hope, journeys, and maybe respect. If I were a carpenter. Or at least a carpenter’s apprentice. I would never cry again. I could be very sad. Or extremely sad. I didn’t finish school. But I’m too ordinary to be sad. I could be a box of strawberries. Molding and crying. Maybe I am. Even worse than that. I could be, I could be… On a hopeful journey. To be respectable. If I had a name tag, everyone would know me. I had a job once. It was some regular type of job. They kicked me out two months ago. They didn’t throw me in the trash. I wish they threw me in the fly-infested trash can. But they just threw me… Away. And I still didn’t go back to school.