On Being Me

I get drunk each day at six. I don't see
How that's your concern. I gaze out
Of a picture window facing west to
Watch the vapor trails of jets which
Bear those in them far from here. I'd
Like to go. I'm certain nowhere else
Is worse. The businessmen with
Their computers, parents saddled
With their shrieking children, blithely
Fly away, while I remain, consumed
By anger, drunk and stuck, and sick
Of living. Somewhere, there's a
Place for me: a beach, a crowded
City street, upon which I may find
Fulfillment. Somewhere, someone's
Set to say, "I understand your poetry,"
And, should that happen after six,
I'll slur when I reply.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 61 times
Written on 2014-11-07 at 21:03

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