i imagine smoke stacks
and epic loneliness
of a man that quietly
carries laundry into the night

laying on the couch
writing down this "poem"
looking through the yellow blinds
that may have once been white

there's parking tickets out there
and cheating boyfriends
and phd dissertations
that take seven years to write

and i'm always one sprained toe away
from black and milds
and a melancholy stroll
in search of a fight