Poetry

Spooktown, 26 (300.)

It’s all too likely I’m
afraid of compliments
and true commitments,
for I handle praise badly
and I defer all accolades to my clearly better peers.
I haven’t been able to stick to the 9 to 5
for long, and I know that shouldn’t bother me,
but there’s something to be said
for the guy who constantly says
“I’m sorry, I stayed up too late last night.”
Maybe I’m trying to be the square
peg who fits into the round hole,
but hey, I want to do right
by my colleagues.
I use the word “colleagues” pretty liberally now.
I hate to think I might be transforming
into a neoliberal, how
utterly backward and pedestrian of me.
I’ve been meaning to give time
to ruminating on the
non-profit industrial complex,
because it’s easy to think that any organization
which declines astronomical profits
is on the side of the angels, but,
well, that’s why I need to rethink my own paradigm.
I’d give a pair of dimes for an ice cold Coke,
but inflation fucked that plan to death
and besides, I’m a diabetic.
It’s all Diet for me.
I don’t drink as much soda as I used to,
and I’m gonna go to bed a few hours early,
and I’m gonna think on all the systems that keep folks in check,
and I promise I’ll come back to address all this shit.

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