staring
through the window
a spinning world

passed by
between every cigarette

a chore, just a small chore
like making the bed, or brushing
my teeth, eating lunch

I read a job post
in the paper

felt myself seize-up,
panic, freeze
the phone rang, I was still

smoking,
glued to my chair,

watched the phone
jump from its cradle
dancing a jig

at every ring, ring, ring
like a cartoon

its not true
about the chores
I smoke cigarettes, fret

listen to sirens
wail and fade

cars in a hurry, driven
past, then vanished

all my neighbors
went to work
I pulled the shades

& nothing happened
I pulled the batteries

from my clock, pulled
the hands from its face
pushed a smoke

between my lips
opened the shades

& watched
a puff of smoke
fade to gray & dwindle

03/04/2006

Posted on 03/04/2006
Copyright © 2026 Jim Benz