PIcking up steam

I'm finally getting close to getting a solid job and thus, paying down debts/acquiring new ones, etc. I'm getting older and I am stuck wondering what to do, get healthy, live more conservatively, or just enjoy being how and what I am. Relationships seem to be on an egg timer, DING!, it's done, so long, time to move on to the next fool. Am I already too old to get all I wanted from life? And what is that exactly?  How much longer until I have to take care of my parents? Will I ever be able to retire, or go to the doctor, dentists, and get rubber fingers inserted in my ass and cold stares from xray machines; hours of staring at old, boring magazines about Diabetes and Dog breeding in a smelly cramped waiting room half full of children, half full of old walking corpses with dulled pain in their eyes.  Stay or Move? Is it too late to relocate out of this Mid Western Cultural suck hole?

Our brother Poverty (Take 1)

I've found you in the trailer park, and in the City,
You've been in the country and I've even found you creeping into that sacred american institution the suburb.


I smell you brother,
Smoke and piss and oil,
Greasy food and hair grease.
Decomposing refuse and damp, moldy corners are your perfume.

I hear you out there brother,
in the wind as it whistles through the windows, doors and siding.
In the sirens of night and the screams of baby mamas and their babies.
In the catcalls and posturing, I hear you.
In the chatter of jaded schoolkids and in the incessant barking of neglected dogs.
I hear you brother, as you whisper sweet nothings about affordable payment plans and the life luxurious.

I see you brother,
You sometimes hide but I know where to find you,      
In church with your best outfit,
and on the bus fiddling with your newest smart phone.
In the mall and at the corner store,
at shoe sales in fancy boutiques,
and at the gun show hunched on the backs of broken men.
In the confident and pathetic smiles of salespeople and the fervorous demands of children in checkout lanes across the world, I see you.

I see you in my features and I hear you in my voice.
I cannot get you out of me,
 not with makeovers
 or shopping sprees,
PhD's and multiculturalism don't stop you from creeping out my lips after I've had a few beers.

I can't wash your scent from me no matter how hard I try.
Not with soap or cologne,
Not sex or dope or those fancy plug in air fresheners can cover up your stench and let me forget that you, my brother, are always with me.



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