He stood silently in the brief patch of sun
blinking his eyes and fumbling
in his pockets for a smartphone
or something
People said he lacked ambition
He forgave himself easily
--
The small dog yipped
and was scooped up with little emotion
Holding the creature in his arms
he began to think about Infinity
Life was meaningless
People were shit
--
Sitting on his woman’s couch
not writing his novel
No cigarettes
until the unemployment check comes
She was sick of him
He knew it
--
Malaise of days grown
fat and resentful
Small indiscretions
harmless, really
as he listened to old songs
and smoked in the dark
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