Motionless to Termination

My number’s up, my name is called
I collect the cup
“There you go,” she says,
and I wonder if I do, for
what it’s worth – all this going
in circles only from the wrong perspective,
glued to the wheel the only way forward
is ‘round and around, it’s enough
to make me sick, gravel miles
of lodged complaints against the world
foul water from the tap
one hour power outage on a Tuesday afternoon
a dead housecat on the roadside, uncollected
empty milk jug in the refrigerator
and a bus ten minutes late
my hardship’s would buckle a weaker man’s knees
if not of sterner stuff the bullet would have been
administered long ago like a dose of foul cherry medicine
when I consider this life I’ve lived
the deprivations and atrocities
the petty motivations driving other men to crime
the toil and pain of all I’ve endured
of one cube left in the tray
of a draft under the door
of a grime ring in the bathtub
of the din of early morning garbage pick-up
and neighbors singing until half past ten
I am tight across the chest in rage
over the indignities one must suffer
simply to live simply to live
is not enough for the life of a man
up against the inflictors of injustice
the salesmen of uncomfortable shoes
interruptions in internet service
postal carriers who don’t deliver until past noon
and spotty cellphone reception in the countryside
I am only one man
bearing this weight
this weight of complaint against the world
this maliciously indifferent world, savagely tone-deaf,
severely mediocre, sensationally mundane
it has me in its grips, there I go, dizzily,
I am undone


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