a waking life. (revised)

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

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 quaint, little house
on the good side of town
where you can share years
of marriage, and maybe
some children of your own
that will go to your childhood school
with those favored teachers you still recall,
where you can become a part of the PTA
and bitch about taxes,
about foreign trade and immigration,
about oil, global warming and traffic,
about family and friends, and bank loans,
about big business, Darfur and BP,
about the kids who throw rocks in your yard,
about God, government, and the whole world twice over,
you can complain about the meat from the supermarket,
and how they're teaching your kids,
and who's running for president,
and where they're building the newest mini-mall,
and when your boss promises to get you that raise,
and why everyone thinks your DUI was a big deal,
and what your ex-wife got in the fucking divorce

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