Impending Job


I felt its weight on me
throughout the long last weekend of freedom.
Nothing but
drinking beer, smoking pot,
laying around with my naked wife,
listening to Duke Ellington
and sweltering at the dawn of July:
The Last Weekend in June,
July one comes the job
and they’ll watch me
and I’ll have to learn their
complicated shit,
their personalities,
where to get my pencil sharpened,
will they let me leave, I wonder,
in the afternoon, early,
and still pay me?

I don’t wanna go to work.
I don’t wanna park my car.
Not that I’m complaining
I’m not complaining.
I WANT the job.
I really need it.

Impending job, impending job
oh no
I don’t wanna go.

I hear voices again,
I hate voices leaking in,
drifting into my space, my ears.
Keep your voices,
everybody please,
keep quiet as
much as
you can.