A resounding tone, the splinter of a cell,
Intrudes on my nap like a visitor from hell.
I rush to the door,
Grab my bag and keys as I go.
I’m already late,
My car and I come to blows.
Gone are the times where I can rest on my means.
Now I must think and plan to earn my beans.
Jack had it easy,
His lofty future fulfilled;
The battle won, and
The cumbersome giant killed.
These days plans are in order—terror of the mind.
Who wants to think? It’s more fun to be blind.
The current shifts,
Tosses me about,
Lifts my tangled hair,
Spins it like a spout.
Sends my papers scattered and mangled
To their deaths on the ground. I pick them up,
Brush off my wounded pride.
Remember I left my coffee cup
On the top of my car—
Three miles down the road—
And sigh.
