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Click hereTrying to breathe through brick–
while another is laid on top;
groceries
new snow boots
field trips
bad brakes
thirsty gas tanks
And oh good lordy, that tire is bald!
High stepping through late notices–
to avoid quicksand and a flat line telephone.
Wondering–
what are the odds–
could someone please tell me the odds–
that last electric bill was a typo?
Waking daily–
to that cymbal playing monkey
beating a rhythm in my head.
Husband left lonely–
while my best friend, Tylenol, gets
the only tongue action in D town.
That bitch Calgon let me down.
And aroma therapy might work–
if it came with valium and my W-2.
How do I spell relief?
T-A-X R-E-T-U-R-N!
Need to get to H&R,
so I can finally get some R&R–
at least for a minute.
I'm not greedy, I'll take a minute or five.
But better come quick–
getting harder to inhale
and Baby–
blue just ain't my color!
If you made it to the end of your poem I still have some hope for you. Even more than hope on the poetry part. Fun would be the wrong word, but we all know that we sing our pain just as much as we do when we rejoice.
Middle-class lament, too familiar to too many. Oh so easy to identify with...
Great lead line, nice title, very well done. I would think about moving Baby-blue together, instead of the line break.