Andrew D. Anderson » Poetry

The noise drips into my ears
The smoke rolls into my veins
As I sit there gazing into space
Lucrative, often unsettling space

My glance is momentarily stolen
By a rare scream of jubilation
And it costs me a dinner, or two
So I cannot even smile at that

I can only smile as a front
A sham. Utterly insincerely.
At people I don’t care for
Or whose livelyhood I endanger

What life is this, I ask
In front of the table
My head unnaturally low
Eyes still fixed in space

It’s new to me. Glamourless.
I fold another hand
Mostly waiting on change
I guess most of us are

Wishing for things to hurry up
So we can make more money
For a life we spend mostly waiting
A vicious trap. I raise my dueces.

Waiting. Always. Meanwhile…
Dieing. What life is this?
Three of a kind, no suprises there.
Just smoke, and noise, and money.

As I peer into your eyes
Full of dismal, dark, suprise

I wonder what road you’ve walked
To what odd men you’ve surely talked

I contemplate just how you came to be
A person so much worse than me

Set in stone by some chance combination?
Determined by adolescent recreation?

Whom to blame for what you are?
By what fate you’ve come so far?

To cross my path and make me see
Just how miserable a life can be

I stare into your abyss of a soul
Grab my walking stick and off I go

Each step widens the gap between
What I can see and what I have seen

Some place down the road I may recall
You weren’t really so bad after all

tossing, turning; in my head
pleasant visions quickly fled

tattered dreams began to creep
i could scarcely think of sleep

i looked about and was not alone
everywhere lie a restless drone

pain escaped in troubled breathes
dismantled wills must acquiesce

told to work and to procreate
distempered men we incarcerate

fear subversion, but not of self
distraction successful, ideal of wealth

failure impossible, self medication
easier to swallow the external delegation

lie still and they will lie too
it’s what society requires all do

eyes closed for restless slumber
just until they call my number

the darkest night enshrouded
I could faintly hear her cry
the rain above me sounded
as if the tin wished her to die

the rain fell down my face too
and I sniffled with the wind
what else could a child do
all around me malice grinned

a flash of lightning struck the ground
the newly-splintered tree despaired
meanwhile, his fists barely made a sound
but screams and thunder left me scared

I shivered, wept, and gasped for air
covered my ears in vain and hummed
this was the world – cruel, unfair
in which night by night I numbed

the wallpaper-like skin
apparently glued to his bones
tore around the lips
as he rasped about whatever

I sat with my ear plugs
shouting just loud enough
to drown out the fellows
rants about whatever

I could hardly stand to
watch him sit there
like a useless broken
furnishing by the fire

I rarely looked up
doubting he cared anyway
lost in my own thoughts
actively ignoring the fool

because some of my blood
ran through his veins
he was useless nevertheless
hardly worth talking about