Work, Part I

I’m at work
Again
Staring at the computer
Staring into space
Staring at my fingers
Until they are blurred
And don’t seem my own

The thing is
I worked hard to get here
Four years undergrad
Two years grad school
Countless unpaid, underpaid hours
In homes for
The mentally ill
The addicted
The beaten

Here I sit
Wondering
Why I worked so hard to get
Where I don’t really want to be

But, at least I’m not a
Salesperson
Banker
Businesswoman
Or some other job
I would hate
And be bad at

I worked hard
To get a job
I hate
Slightly less
Than some other job

I shared this with a friend
And was told
My feelings are not unique
That we all are striving
For a job
We hate slightly less

I look around my office
At the personal hell
We are all in together
And I write a note
Reminding myself to buy a lottery ticket
Before my hour commute home


Work, Part II

When I’m bored at work
I put a sign on my office door
Saying that I’m “grabbing coffee”
And that I’ll be back “shortly”
I punctuate it with a smiley face
To make it additionally trite

Then I walk four blocks
To the Barnes and Noble
And jerk off in the bathroom
Then walk four blocks back
To sit at my desk and be bored.

Tom

The slinky cat man prowled his way down Ballard Avenue.
Stopping only to groom himself in the reflection of the Smoke Shop window.
On the hunt, winding in and out of alleys and bars.
Curling himself onto barstools.
Seeking the warmest spot in the bar.
“Which of these pussies will go home with me?”

Yardstick Ninja

You say I write like Bukowski
I say you talk like Marge Gunderson
You’re content to paint spaceships and sip whisky
While reruns of The Twilight Zone play on TV
I want to get drunk and fuck in front of the window
So the old lady next door can see

Tonight we went to the video store
I headed through the dark drapes in back
While you made for the cult section
Too embarrassed to rent House of Ass II
You wanted me to check out the movies
I insisted you do it, too embarrassed to rent
The Adventures of Buckaroo Banzai Across the 8th Dimension

We checked out separately and met in the car
I, giggly and devilish. you, slightly wary.
I like to think you’re as secretly glad
To be with a girl who watches smut
And jerks off on your couch
As I am to be with a boy
Who paints spaceships and sips whiskey

You say I write like Bukowski
I say you talk like Marge Gunderson
Together we sound like happiness

Don't Stand So, Don't Stand So

Sweat. Fatigue. Rubbery legs. Heavy breathing. Shower.
Reclining in hot dry heat, pretending not to look at your bare perky breasts.

You are my secret girlfriend for one hour each day.
We meet at 6:00, undress and move our bodies until we soak our shirts.

Please don't ever change gyms.

Woman Seeking

I’m fat, my breasts are too small, my clothes unstylish and my teeth yellow. My laugh is loud, my hair frizzy, my feet big, my thighs lumpy, my stomach like jelly.

I’m flawed and scarred and stretched and dry. Tired, grumpy, angry, weak. I blossom in the inky darkness of night and my petals drop at first light.

You’re gimpy and plain. Dumb as a box of pixie sticks and limp as an aloe plant left out in the snow. You walk like a duck, your pants are tight, you stink of glue.

You’re tainted and murky. Grim, jaundiced, sloppy, meek. You slink from the shadows of your shame just long enough to get drunk and pass out in your own sick.

Will you fill this black sucking hole that lies in my soul?