i’ve driven myself nearly mad
chasing roof-leaks
in the rain
staring at stacks of VHS
on a shelf next to
a can of bug-spray
and a small stack of books
someone once published
containing my early, angsty, poesies.
just the other day
a kid flipping burgers asked me how i do it
how i keep on living without working
with a wife
without a job
doing exactly what i want
and nothing else.
i had no real answer for him.
doesn’t he know
that i live in a tiny tin box
and that that’s all a man needs to be happy?
just a woman and a few cans of beans
everything else is just as useless as
the bug-spray and unmarked VHS
on the shelf
leaning against
my bedroom wall.
Rusty Truck 