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Surviving in Circles
by Daniel PetersonThis city stole from me
the month of November
(and I'll bet it takes December, too).
In a whisk of time sheets
and deadlines,
I barely was surviving
more like mindlessly driving
on some questionably named roadway
in some questionable state
of repair.
And I was barely there,
but my routine was.
Pick up the keys, the cup,
the bag, the phone
just change out the clothes,
and make it another Monday
(thats laundry),
another Tuesday
(thats exercise),
another Friday
(thats desperately pretend there's
someone here who cares about you),
and another weekend
(repeat).
So far from home,
out on this open-ended road,
I put more value on
what I gave up
a purpose, or reason for being
not just another twenty-something
looking to score.
Now am I reaching for so much less,
when I was on the path to so much?
Morphine in the form of paper
framed on my wall,
hanging for the right choice,
the right path
to somewhere righteous.
But how can this be the beginning
when it feels equal parts the ending,
and I'm never really headed anywhere
other than Monday morning? 12/07/2003 Posted on 12/07/2003
Copyright © 2026 Daniel Peterson
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Rhyana Fisher on 12/18/03 at 08:07 AM oooooh! excellent work with subtle humor. love the first three lines...this is a good one for reading out loud. my circle travels in two week increments but i hear ya loud and clear anyways.
glad i stumbled on to this tonight. |
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