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 farther, should the spirit move me.
But ninety-nine hours on the road in eight days
evaporates all thoughts of roaming.

I live an unremarkable life,
punctuated by alarm clocks, time clocks
and the inevitable biological clock
ever more quickly ticking down.

But I have two 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 I wear contentment
like a comfortable old suit.
and wonder why I don’t want more.

NEXT?
Why don't you look at Neon Bar
by: James Steel
from: Maple Shade, NJ, US

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