Thoughts On The Dead

Musings on the Most Ridiculous Band I Can't Stop Listening To

Job, Fair

Maybe I shoulda been a doctor.

Studied hard, and
Done the reading.
Pretty wife and
Children with tutors.

Worn my scrubs, and
Bright-red Reeboks
To the deli, and
Paid in cash.

Maybe I coulda been a lawyer.

Tier two school, and
Married in my study group.
Carried my birthday briefcase, and
Knotted my Father’s Day tie.

I could object, and
Buck for promotion.
Play a little golf, and
Have my calls held.

What about a long-haul trucker?

Crank the speed up, and
Fuck that highway ’til the log book cries.
They’re thirsty in Atlanta, and
There’s beer in Texarkana.

Bed down in the back, and
Praise Christ in a trailer.
Eighteen gears up, and
Roll them back down.

Always work for a short-order cook.

Burn the birdies, and
86 the fish, ladies.
Scrape down the grill, and
Drain off the fat traps.

Watch the world through the cut-out, and
When the order was up,
I’d ding the bell, and
I’d never think about those eggs again.

2 Comments

  1. my favorite kind of oblique digression post. Could be right off Nighthawks at the Diner, and that’s as good a compliment as you’re gonna get off me ’round a Monday

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