I Told Myself by Brian Rihlmann

I remember the day
the thought crept in
it was a Tuesday…no—
a Wednesday
yes, I’m sure of it
after I’d just blown
the two twenties I had
in my wallet
on beers and shots
at the corner dive
to erase another bad day at work
another day wasted
unloading trucks
stocking shelves

and I thought my god—
I just spent my entire day’s pay
in a few hours
(minimum wage was 4.25, then)
and I realized that
for the rest of my life
I will do just this
or something like it
trade my days for dollars

then the long
and bloody rebellion began
with the words Fuck it—
and another shot
and another beer

I may be wrong
it could have also crept in
on that Friday night
that Eddie and I got high
drove out to Mustang
and each banged
two whores a piece—
hundred bucks a pop

and as we drove west
and coming down
back toward the neon city
Eddie turns to me
and says Shit…
I’m gonna have to
hock one of my guitars
again….that was rent money

for me it was a week’s pay
and I sat there
imagining a whole week‘s worth
of bullshit down the drain
just so I could stick my dick
in some strange pussy

well…I’d make it back
I told myself
fuck it—
at least I didn’t make my living
with my legs in the air

there was a distinct difference
I told myself
between taking my boss’s abuse
and pretending
I enjoyed a stranger’s cock
inside of me
telling him Oh yes
as he pumped away, whispering
You love it, don’t you? 

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