Dreams

by

Rick Bandy

There’s two twenties in my pocket,
nestled right next to a full pack of smokes.
Enough gas in the tank to take me home
and beyond, should the spirit move me.
But ninety-nine hours in eight days
And thoughts of roaming have evaporated.

I live an unremarkable life,
punctuated by alarm clocks, time clocks
and the inevitable ebbing of years
ever more quickly spiraling down.

But I have 2 days off and it looks like
I’ll make rent again this month.
The lights are on, the phone still rings
And occasionally the words visit,
staying just long enough to drive me
To pick up the pen.

I can’t remember what I dreamed
it would be like, this life.
This probably wasn’t it.
But contentment wears
like a comfortable old suit.

I wonder that I don’t want more.

NEXT?
Why don't you look at Grumpy Old Man
by: Mary Etta Metcalf
from: Sciotoville, OH, US

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