Wednesday, October 31, 2007

Aboard Flight from Seattle-Atlanta

I've always liked this poem. Needless to say, it was a bleak time in my life. Still, I think it has some merit.

Aboard Flight from Seattle-Atlanta Jan. 12, 1985, 12:24 a.m.

There is no rest for men like us

In rooms like these

Sleeping, beyond hope

Reading, beneath interest

Friends, beyond effort

Women, beyond consideration

There is no sleep for men like us

Rest, beyond memory

Pills, too tolerated

Fingers, too yellow

Eyes, too red

They see us next day

And shake their heads

While snug they cuddled

Dreaming dreams in young heads

There was no rest for men like us

Alone in our rooms

Staring across at our wall

Brothers under the skin

Not knowing at all

Of the thousands of others just like us

Who come home from work

No hope for a smile or a joke

Who sit and we smoke

And wait for morning to come

Our eyes never shut,

Behind them runs a continuous movie

Of whatever it was that crushed out our dreams once and for all

So we stub out a butt in a tray full of dust

And brush at our teeth

And maybe pick a clean shirt

An extra day’s baggage hung from our eyes

And head to the streets

A little more worn

There is no rest for men like us

Who sit through the night

As quite simply we must.

No comments: