Unemployment (2)

Another day come, add it

To the list, the

Not to do list.

Son of mine,

I was rambling across the undercarpeting

Strewn with imperceptible tacks

In one shapeless slip-on

When a pain rang out in my flank

And I fell to,

Braying,

But who should answer but no one.

I lost good cause that day, don’t ask,

Let us sit a bit in this ill-starred

Suit in the form-filling

Chamber of subtraction,

Listing.

I haven’t another trip around the sun

Left in me. Speak to me

Son, vague one.

For this is where it thickens,

Me here and it there and me there and them here

And you with the soul.

I’ll cross that gravid boneyard

All the day poking

Radishes for remembrance.

For this is a private matter

Between a man and his scaffolding

And it shall remain so

Privation permitting.