Monday, December 08, 2008

Poetry: Thomas Bess Jr.


The Paper-cutter
By: Thomas Bess jr.


waiting in the blackness for my alarm clock to go off,

the screaming banshee opens my eyes to pierce the blackness of my four walls.

i see the ghost that is my work clothes resting lazily on my chair;

starched white shirt, black pants, black tie.

out of the apartment.

i wait for the bus.

i waited and cursed my local transit system.

late again

i was late yesterday

i left thirty minutes earlier than yesterday

and i was still late

later than the day before

i felt a cold numbness

i imagined the look on my boss’ face when i tell him the bus was late again

i smile an insane smile to myself

i held my gas station coffee -- sweating palm

the humid air clings to my business casual
gravel and dust make my dress shoes look lousy

i stand congregated with the other losers

waiting for the bus it comes.

no smiling faces

sleepy zombies

the bus stops

i'm here

quontavious, i don't think we’re in kirkwood anymore

store-brand coffee brewing in employee lounge

a can with a sign that says 25 cent donation

i put in nothing. i don't have it to give and i need the coffee.

a judging fat blob gauks as i stir in the sugar.

"fuck you", i think in my head.



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