POPTARTS & CIGARETTES

wake up 9am.
planned on working on hardly working,
liquid shampoo, barred soap,
dried myself clean and glanced at the man in the mirror.
“lookin’ good” he says.
toaster’s up and lighters burning,
couch is feeling cozy.
something happened in Palastine, Unesco rings a bell.
chemicals mingling with other chemicals,
smoke with strawberries, tasting cheap and i feel tired.
what a way to start the day, with poptarts and cigarettes.

head out and down the stairs,
it’s not raining but it’s cold and bleak.
mouth tastes like plastic, what i’d give for a greasy silver spoon.
can’t stop feeling like for every smile; i’m charged a dollar.
and for ever act of grace; thanks goes unnoticed.
all used up and i’m part of the problem.

statement reads: chequing’s $7.04.
think i’ll buy some eggs and bacon,
the plastic is rotting my brain and poking holes in the arteries of my day.

tomorrow morning, i eat like a king!
and i work on hardly working,
dandruff control, pore cleansing, i dry myself clean.
i tell that man in the mirror that:
looks are a facade,
my smile’s are weightless,
and he winks at me.

head out and down the stairs,
it’s raining, cold and bleak.
i feel warm and surprised,
startled by the truth in the importance of breakfast.

NOTE: written november 5th, 2011 in st. catharines, ontario. while i was living at russell ave with brian.