So, what’s your poison?
Laboured breathing; a shallow hovel
Closing its arms around heavy smoke and drink.
Poisons all round, come see.
I got…Anxiety, Weeping Guilt, a shot of Resentment
left from the Lucky Ones the night before…
I got Fatigue, Obligation (by the way,
pick of the month),
Greed of which I’ll toss in an extra glass on the house…
and I have some spicy, dark Fear and Concern with the usual
Over-processed Workaholic brew…
It’s a weeknight;
staring through the empty air,
passing cold fingers along my skin.
It’s a hollow bone feeling,
feeling metal poles, tin-legs
carrying your tired body home.
So, what’s my poison of choice tonight?
We’ve been away for weeks now;
greeting people and business and fleshing out
those desires for ourselves.
Those desires are swirling clouds of reality, settling
like dust sprinkles, sparkling in morning sun.
The journey home of thousands of working adults,
counting green little rectangles floating in the corner of their minds.
We see the sun rise over a startlingly black coffee and a rushed toast
before even noticing how we breathe or feel or rustle in the morning chill.
A shot of sarcasm twisting through veins and off into the thick of routine.
Superiors sending mixed messages and talking overtime;
the half-hour break left to twiddle
your thumbs and seeing time’s hands slow;
the messages you scroll for and don’t receive because
you become exhausted, even to commit to messaging first.
Careful now, caution is best when handling your chosen poison.
No mess here, I take no responsibility if you break a little.
I don’t get to see you.
Eyes and mouth and skin and lips and tongue and hands,
lost to me in the realm of work and all its other meanings;
spending forever making every boss of yours happy and satisfied
for a reward of green little papers stamped with numbers.
Lost in a sky like a drone.
I’m scared about the poisons you take,
in seedy places that strive for work alone, no play;
I’m scared you’ll grind yourself down and that every
phone call will make that clearer.
Hustle and bustle and swollen feet;
Losing notice of your breath and bones and
Warm pulsing cushions inside;
losing your feelings of love for someone;
Forgetting all about life and love outside some
Sliding glass doors.
These slouched, rumpled ladies and gents,
leaning on counters for all sorts of poisons,
Notice how your focus changes, how your four walls grow smaller.
I don’t want to call and know those prized green notes
are all you wake and plan and break yourself for.
All these poisons let us know we all get stuck
in a cynical, dark cycle of obligation, stress, sacrifice
and we all just miss each other, don’t you think?
Missing the hours holding hands,
feeling warm sun brush orange onto our faces,
Waking up with each other,
straddling sheets and breathing in kisses
and waking up for ourselves alone.
I’ve never been in love before you.
People taste that word without
Knowing the taste they are looking for.
I was never in love until I fell into your embrace.
I had never felt loved until you showed me
I could be,
Showed me you,
My favourite person in all this world,
I don’t want to lose you to a
World of endeavors, brushed
Like dirt under the carpet of little green papers.
I want to spend more time feeling
Under my palm.
Otherwise you’ll become a lost thing in the sea.
Take some poison my dear, don’t speak
all the time, keep it secret and safe with you…
I’ll always be falling short for you,
when it’s my turn to take poisons, stay alert
all day and give in at night.
Living like I have a turn-around time.
I won’t speak about work. I won’t share anything I learn.
The only interest seems to lie in green papers and talk
Of boredom drones,
Flying wrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr between desks,
And loneliness and the poisons I make for myself.
So, what’s your poison?
Just try not to forget us,
When I set out on the green march myself.