You Think You Have Problems Because You Can’t Get Laid

I don’t have real angst

 

Not like war torn rape victims

HIV riddled convenience store beggars

Sex scandal politicians

Unemployed ex famous actors

Tiny dicked black men

 

But I have worries

 

Not like alcoholic test pilots

Balding hairdressers

Broke poker gurus

Angry life coaches

And your perpetually single, single mother

 

Life is just life

And we do the best we can

 

Before our gut sags

Our bones go brittle

Our friends forget our names and birthdays

And everything you wanted

Means nothing except for the burning question

Who will wipe my ass today and

Should I be buried or burned?

 

So play with the kids

Write your poetry book

Run through a field of daisies high on Ecstasy

Scream at orgasm so the neighbors cheer and hiss

Eat more ice cream

Sleep till 3pm and then take a nap

 

And when you wake up

From your dream

Give me a text

And I’ll complain

And you’ll complain

Because that’s what we do

 

But that’s the trick to comprehending

All this torment

 

We do…something

At least try