The Gray Album

 

It’s not going to get better

 

You touch the tap to turn it on

But withdraw,

For fear that it will reveal

How bone dry

It always was

 

You let the dish sit, untouched,

Knowing that it’s bland

But you would be more

Charitable

If you were ever hungry

 

And when the phone rings,

She knows

That on the other end will be a friendly voice

Speaking silence

How nice to be remembered

It’s a maintenance fee,

The bare minimum

Required

To have someone to call when you’re lonely

 

It’s written there

Plainly

On every license plate in town

In the tattoos left on the roadways

From cars, fleeing,

Speeding

To get back to where they matter

 

We all take turns

With our ugly chores

We do without to have something to pay

Into the lottery pool

 

And it’s as fair as it gets

The dice are three sided

There’s a billion winners every night

And just as many lose

And everyone who’s left

Lies

Somewhere in between

Justifying to themselves

If no one else

“It’ll do

For now”

But there’s only so much air to breathe,

To waste, to say “I’m fine”

Reviews

[Drew Wade]

awesome.