sober thoughts...

job as a fry-cook at a bar by the bay

In college I had aspirations to be a day-trader.
She was an A student but a bad test taker.
We took a class together in microeconomics.
Teacher was a chinese lady, couldn't grasp the language.
I flunked the course but gained a lot of knowledge.

A few years later I was a glorified secretary with a fancy title.
She was a homemaker going to her daughter's dance recital.
I lost it one day couldnt take the monotony.
Bored at work I got in the car and just kept on driving.
I stopped trying to conform; instead only thought about surviving.

I took a job as a fry-cook at a bar by the bay.
Hung out with an old uncle and a few kids from back in the day.
Lived the life i always imagined i'd avoid,
got caught up in the same racket as Dr. Freud.
spent many restless nights smelling currency.

I met a bartender, little blonde girl named Shirley.
She was a young girl enjoyed givin' twirlies.
we liked to drink and laugh together after we were done work.
it was a small town with not a lot to do.
it was practically impossible for us to not screw.

Got caught up in sunsets and nightswimming in the ocean.
Lost all my ambitions, damn that #9 potion.
drinkin while everyone else was workin.
workin while everyone else was drinkin.
days became nights, nights days, a big mess, a fuckin haze.

Caught shirley with another man.
should've known all along she always had a plan.
just using me for my stacks and my powder,
i guess all along i was using her for her chowder.
i decided to ignore her and went on a binge.

came to a few weeks later in a cell in bucks county.
That cleared my head, cleaned me quick like bounty.
Made a promise and a plan
One day at a time.
A different life, a new life, I was still in my prime.

Got a new job in a new office with a new fancy title.
I even caught a glimpse of my daughter’s dance recital.
Afterwards though I slipped out the back door,
I didn’t want my daughter growing up knowin
That her perfect mommy, once upon a time, was a whore.


underwater

Jenny met Johnny on a whim.

Johnny was my boy
from East Mississippi;
he used to always call me 'Slim'.

I Hadn't spoke with Johnny since 99'
when we were out fishin, sharin beers
havin a good time.

I wrote him postcards
But never knew he wasn’t home.
Whenever I tried to call him a girl answered the phone.

Johnny joined the army when he was 19.

Got fired from his job
for smoking some weed.
Had to choose between the armed forces or jail

Johnny never knew he was signing up for hell.
Jenny stayed at home
Waiting for his calls

Johnny never told me about Jenny (never had the balls)

Jenny was my first
Back when we were both pre-teens.
We were just kids

Stuck in-between
Not knowing what to do or how to act
I was in love though, that’s a fact.

Jenny was a looker and a flirt.

I was a bit cocky
And definitely a jerk.
She broke my heart and

I never looked back.
Johnny met her while he was on leave
Home from Iraq.

Jenny had a feeling that this day would come.

The first time we met we both felt numb.
I hugged her and
Neither of us could speak.

We shared a love for Johnny
He was very unique.
After years of silence

I held Jenny at Johnny’s wake.

Tales From a Young Proletarian

De Ja Vu


Quit my job again,
With no pension.

Feels like a bad case of de ja vu.
Searching websites for a clue

Of what the fuck I am supposed to do.
(and rent is past due)

Quit my girl again,
For no apparent reason.

Feels like a bad case of de ja vu.
Getting drunk and looking

For something, anything new
(an exotic bitch to screw)

Quit my sobriety again,
Ran out of an excuse.

Feels like a bad case of de ja vu.
Starting early with a brew

And a dime bag to share with you
(missed you buddy, cheers to the old crew)

Quit my life again,
I thought you knew.

Feels like a bad case of de ja vu.
The friends whom I have left,

And there are very few, dont understand all I've been through
(only you understand my point of view)


Car salesman with no car


Another lonely night at the neighborhood bar
Talking to the tender about the latest DUI
I confess
That I too have driven while drunk.

This came after the
What do you do and how much money do you make
Tasteful conversation
That weeds out the wannabes.

Me, I’m a liar,
And a damn good one at that.
So, even if I did tell the truth
She probably would not understand.

We talk about a lesson learned,
And the fines that
Emptied the pockets.
Was it a good thing?

A waitress, must’ve been close to fifty-five
Talks about a glass of wine after work
And how she was pulled over
For not signaling into her driveway.

Given a DUI,
While her grandchildren watched out the window.
Cop took a quota a little too far,
And now she can’t afford her mortgage.

It’s never the culprit’s fault.
But, at the same time...
What is a crime?
Isn’t this the land of the free?

Home of the brave.
I have no car now.
Livin’ in the city ain’t too bad;
Dealing with people that are mad.

I got this new job though,
Where I sell cars,
With no license,
And no quota.


The New-Age American Proletarian


There is a new breed of proletarians in

America today.

They are lined up in temp offices;

there resumes posted online.



They show up to the interview

in Men's Wearhouse suits,

sporting fresh haircuts,

and flashing fake smiles.



They work the phones.

Hawking FHA, VA, COSI and CODI, interest only,

and Conventional?

Loans.



They go door to door

offering FIOS and DSL, telephone lines and clientele

a handshake a smile

anything to make it worth there while.



Afterall, they work for straight commission

with no health benefits.

Which is why they nickel and dime

and don't give a shit



if they interrupt your dinner

or lunch;

meeting or business brunch.

it's just a numbers game in the end.