i've overconceptualized the beer
along with the woman, the child, the fight
a closet of clothes that are a little too tight
for a man defined by failure and polite cynicism

and all i want is a warm yellow light
over a couch on thanksgiving
where life wouldn't be life, i'd just be living
with a stupid smile on my face

no tight little asses for me to chase
just piles of papers on a computer desk
becoming more and more statuesque
in a thoughtful repose, wife with a coffee scratching her nose

and maybe on the weekends i'd listen to her bitch
about how i haven't done enough around the house
reminding me of how scared she got when attacked by a mouse
and i would drag my ass out to the hardware store

happy because i couldn't ask for anything more