Leftovers

Leftovers

Alarming sounds

Ruminating from rooms aside

One, two, three, four, five

Snoozes… the ring more annoying

Each time

Boxes piled by the trash

Seemingly adding more

Night after night

Leftovers from weeks ago

Sit untouched in the fridge

And the mold grows 

More and more 

Til I can’t stand it anymore

So I throw it out

Container and all

Stress builds

And so does the pile of cans

On the carpet

Because apparently your hands

Don’t work

And the last fork

Went missing

Weeks ago

So I guess I’ll go to the store

And pick up some plastic ones

But at some point

Those will disappear too

Because I guess they belong to you

80 square feet

Enough space for me

A place where I can be

Alone, escape from these fiends

Who live unconsciously

Victims of defeat

Defeated by circumstance

Defeated by substance

Defeated by the man

Who tells them that they can’t

Do anything more

Than be a fan

Sitting in the stands

Waving your hands

As you help him

Stack his bands

But it’s enough

Because he gives you a cut

Just for showing up

Then you wait for your buck

So you can walk into that store

And buy some more

Alcohol, because you’re sore

And you’re poor

So you pour

More liquor down your throat

Dependency forms

And you start to lose your form

So you starve yourself

And close the door

Of the fridge

Where your leftovers sit

And watch your hand

Grab another can

A pathetic excuse for a man.