Dust Bowl Soul

The gas gauge has been on E for four months

The tank is full

Of fumes

Clothes jumble on bookshelves

Ready to grab

And move on

Sheets cover borrowed beds

In rooms

With other purposes

A thousand sheets of white

Paper, resumés

Line circular files

The parade of Career Pimps proffers no hope

Dejected rejected

Invisible job whore

Pockets, deep empty pockets thread bare

No lint

No warmth or comfort there

Six months going on wing and a prayer

Odd clicking

Not too sure what goes there

No answers forthcoming for questioning kids

Throat chokes

Tongue ties

Rather than spewing foul lies

Water fills

And blinds eyes

Newspapers open to Classifieds, section B page 12

Applied and replied

Still seeking help, just not my help

Sixteen months of ups and downs and run a rounds

Lost job

Lost hope

Lost love

Lost pride

Lost shame

Lost home

Lost friends

Lost family

Now losing faith

 

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