sometimes you become so blind
you just stop noticing
how much cocaine is coursing through your favourite bar
or your best friend’s party
until you begin to see how often the people check their phones
of how little people are concerned with sitting down
how the postures become more erect, pronounced
how the women all seem afraid
large men brood with thick, hooded sweat-shirts
skinny men sway with odd facial hair
odd stares dart across the room
a slanted walk to the doorway
too many cigarettes being smoked too often
there is an odd energy to the room
one I cannot abide
as I cannot abide this ass-hole to my right
he won’t sit down
he’s apparently leaving for San Diego
his friend has a house and a couch where he can crash
a voice asks him, “Why?” and he answers
“Because I can. Good times. I got a place to crash and air miles, man”
I would have sympathy and call him a brother
until he spews about some deal, some bid, some offer
he is instantly lost to me
instantly, he becomes a tool
I begin to hate him as I get drunk
I hate his blondness, his trimness
I hate his blue jeans and his jawline
most of all I hate the way he will not sit down
his hovering unrest makes me unable to think
his giddy, greedy joy reminds me how the imbeciles rule the world
empty, plastic people ride in limousines
while real, wooden boys plod by in beater vans
hateful, vapid Ken-doll males enjoy VIP access and luxury suites
while I hate my job to pay the rent
life would certainly be easier
if those on the top would say that they too hate their job
that they agonize through the daily grind and savour the sweet relief
of a glass of whisky or the blissful escape of sleep
if they would only express sadness and unrest, let us in
let us know that they too are suffering and unfulfilled
maybe we all wouldn’t feel like such failures
every time we passed up on a chance
every time we chose not to study
every time we opted for experience over expanse

Published by bernardsbarnes

Writer. Artist. Performer. A little boy dreaming of the stars.

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