Elvis Costello wailing away on the Bose
Chelsea songs, crafted rhyming prose
Puttering around the afternoon waiting
For springtime and the season’s rebirth
Knowing it isn’t the weather’s pattern painting
Making me anxious, but scourched Earth
Intense boredom replacing my life’s work.
I hunt and peck the pages of ads
Contemplate the hacks and macks
Soulessly offering positions for my wallet.
Truck driver, reciptionist, nurse, taxi hacks
A wage earning conduit
The resumes sent, faxed, stamped and wired
Making relevant the paper shuffle
Ways to meet the goal, avoiding the drunken stumble
At the traffic intersection before I tumble.
Will Work to End the Internal Mumble!