Too Much Coffee

Gordon lets something slip that makes my job seem
Untenable
Unbearable
Three cups of coffee and I
Can't think anymore
Body tipped on caffeine and adrenalin
I feel like the only person alive
Moving in slow motion past people who have
No clue.
I consider the balcony
Shut out the world with ear buds
Momma Miss America
Glorious drums and frightening reverb defining life
I fall into the flow outside and grab a building to steady myself
How can I not feel pretentious?
The singer asks what's the use of worrying
He answers: no use
Son of a bitch
Can't even use the f-word in this poem
Hurts so good
Crushing
Too much coffee
Too much

© Poem Fix http://www.poemfix.com 2012
Photo: Poem Fix

Things I Need To Do Today

There are things
I need to do today.
Some are mine,
Others not.
All of them will define me by sunset.
I should be more discriminate with my time,
Not allow a list to absorb my identity,
Deny tasks and driving and spending money
That bleed the day.
What if I had the prescience to know this was to be
My last day?
Such clairvoyance would overhaul every minute.
I reject that.
I am determined not to treat today different.
The simplicity of normal is to be celebrated,
Reserved and preserved as is.
The stop at a hardware store,
Buying nearly ripe bananas,
Dropping off laundry,
Paying bills,
Mowing the lawn,
Cleaning the pool,
All of them so perfect, cherished,
The simple pleasures of living,
Appreciated and prized,
Welcomed accomplishment at night,
List completed,
Celebrated with feet up
And a cigar as the sun dips and
Dogs lap at the pool.

© Poem Fix http://www.poemfix.com 2012

The Job

Jurgen from Sandesneben, Germany

Who has better work than the rooster?
He has two primary tasks
To have intimate relations with his willing harem
As often as possible
And to wake the farmer
He need not be talented at either
No judgment of technique or prowess
Fast and efficient is preferred
If he doesn't cock-a-doodle-do on time
No one complains
Is that why he crows?
Rejoicing at his job
Strutting to fertilize at will
Never mind coping with other roosters
That can be managed
Young master of the barn
Without fear of wrung neck
Or becoming the farmer's dinner

© Poem Fix http://www.poemfix.com 2012