A Day in the Life of a Happy Worker

An incompetent scarecrow is being eaten alive as we speak.
A flattened squirrel is being run over for the 67th time--entertainment for the rednecks.
The luminescence of a firefly is slowly fading after being splattered across an inviting windshield...
...just another inconvenience for the driver human
coming home from work only to find
an empty home complete with lousy mail and soap operas as the only option
and the bread is moldy, too...
...just another chain of inconspicuously awful events climaxing in an awkward phone call
and a trip to the video store where all the good movies have disappeared without a trace.
Murder count: 6 fireflies, 3 squirrels along the way.
The incompetent scarecrow can relax until morning when the cycle will resume.

---written 7/17/98 after fireflies kept splattering their glowing guts all over my windshield (I didn't really kill any squirrels).

Effects of A Miserable Jaunt

In a claustrophobically full van
I lost track of the moon--
It hid behind a forest of buildings.
I watched the stars instead.
One star in particular--throbbing
pulsating captivating
Perhaps it is Orion...I know it so well
Perhaps I will name it myself for later
reference. The moon comes out of
hiding--it has traveled along the highway with me
and it has risen.
I focus on its fullness and its brightness
until the full, bright oncoming headlights
save me from drowning in delirium.
Instead I am reminded of my failure
What I set out to do was not done;
I wonder how I will overcome the disappointment,
how I will face their disappointed faces when I tell them the truth
I give up on the moon - it is concealed again -
and focus on the music
Beautiful guitar chords from my high-tech headphones blended with the tribal voices blared through the speakers by my father...
...everyone is a WOO HOO WOO HOO Napoleon...
...Depressed lyrics merged with way-too-upbeat noise
My family, anxious for home,
not knowing where I have been,
sings along intolerably ----
my mind screams for peace
but I can't bring myself to ask for it.

---Written 3/98 after returning home from DC with no Tori Amos tickets for the 9:30 Club show...it was a depressing day for me. Back for more