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8 or 9 years ago I was working at a lumber mill and I was bored.
The work itself was pretty routine and required very little thought
I have always written poetry in my head for my own entertainment
This day was no different
Some days my boss and I would argue
Some days we got along great
But every night
After doing the same shitty job everyday
I would go home
Eat supper while I watched the evening news
Watch whatever was on the tv that night
And drink
And smoke dope
Every fucking day
I lived to get drunk and stoned
I worked so I could afford to do it
I lived like that for years
Wish I still could
I miss the escape
Now I am old
With a seven year old son
After keeping my poetry to myself for forty years
He is the reason that I am sharing my poetry
Yeah son
Dad is fucked
I don't like the world very much
I like it a lot better when I am wasted
When I am sober
The world can go fuck itself
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