Brown Study

The sky's gray. Good. I'm not very happy.
The list of irritations grows, metastasizes,
In my mind. I wait to learn how much I'll pay
For broken motor vehicles. My stomach
Hurts. I've got the runs. The concrete guys
Keep saying, “Oh, it's rained. Your driveway
Has to wait,” and every time I go to work,
Some supervisor sidles up to tell me I've done
Something wrong. You, of course, stay
Nearly silent, too caught up in your new job
To help distract me from my troubles, Thus,
I grumble by this window, glad the sky is gray.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 133 times
Written on 2019-09-24 at 14:58

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