Tuesdays Will Kill You

It won't be the sharp snap of failure,
the sudden betrayal and abandon...
No, it'll be this.
Another mist-wet morning,
flies on the windowpane
a steady tapping on the attic roof.
A smell like camphor and urine,
a book fallen in back of the shelf.

Creeping creeping up on you,
another year of this sponge...
a drive into work among the headlights
an empty passenger seat
an ink-smeared manifest.
This drudgery of everyday routine,
milk and cookies and flab.
The hair parts down the middle,
the scalp of age and flop sweat.

Old musics
childhood cassette tapes.
A hum of promise and poise.
Lost now.
Dum-dee-dee-dum.
Weak tea and weaker knees,
a punched number and dull chrome.

What's the warranty on the laptop?
Has your Norton Anti-Virus expired?
Where's the 401K? Health insurance?
How many more loan payments?
Credit card maxed? Personal debts?
Monetary gifts and promises to kin?

Awake in the middle of the night
flash lightening and cars just outside the window.
A plane veers far overhead,
looking down at another suburban depot.
How much longer of this?
A poster curls against the wall.
A light flicks on,
a plastic glass and spring water.
Escape.

Then the drive into work
Then the drive into work
Then fries with work
Tires fries work
Wo--