Workers Dream of a Beach Bar Getaway

Again I

am disappointed.

The pavement is a

disappointment.

The opening of a door

is a disappointment.

My hall is a

disappointment.

My kitchen is a

disappointment.

My teeth are a

disappointment.

My jeans disappoint,

My hair,

My legs.

My toaster.

This poem.

All disappoint.

My friends disappoint me

and I disappoint them.

But there

will be workers dreaming

of a beach bar getaway,

at a negligent corner

of an impossible town.

Right there they have it,

they have comedy,

they have everything.

No Goodness

Torn sheets.

Dusty floors.

Unlit fires.

Children crossing roads.

Letters delivered.

Meters read.

Rain.

Wind.

Sun.

Roofs shelter.

Windows shield.

Street lamps flicker.

I look at this raped version with pity.

Cannot believe I am a part.