God, I need a job because I need money. <br />Here the world is, enjoyable with whiskey, <br />women, ultimate weapons, and class! <br />But if I have no money, then my wife <br />gets mad at me, I can’t drink well, <br />the armed oppress me, and no boss <br />pays me money. But when I work, <br />Oh I get paid!, the police are courteous, <br />and I can have a drink and breathe air. <br />I feel classy. I am where the arms are. <br />The wife is wife in deed. The world <br />is interesting!, except I have to be <br />indoors all day and take shit, and make <br />weapons to kill outsiders with. I miss <br />the air and smell that paid work stinks <br />when done for someone else’s profit, so I quit, <br />enjoy a few flush days in air, drunk, then <br />I need a job again. I’m caught in a steel cycle.<br /><br />Alan Dugan<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/prayer-111/
