in a waking life.

in a waking life
you see the sun set and
you rise in the early hours
to hapless moments
measured only in clock-ins
and coffee breaks and
empty smiles from co-workers
with four kids,
lemon cars,
and two mortgages,
and cats that eat table scraps, and
none of them know why they persist.

in a solemn vow
to climb up and make
your way out of here
you instinctively make a house
and home and root yourself with iron
chains to this town.

you work your way to the top,
reminiscence about the good ol' days,
take out student loans,
date a few pretty girls,
and hunker down to a homely place
and buy yourself a nice, little house
in the good side of town
where you can have a few years
of marriage, and then maybe
some children of your own
that will go to your childhood school,
become a part of the PTA
and bitch about taxes,
and what they're teaching your kids,
and who's running for president,
and why your boss won't give you a raise,
and what your ex got in the divorce.

and in a waking life
you see your son set in
motion everything you never
wanted for yourself
but couldn't ever prevent.