blue collar, white collar, and the grey inbetween

Unlike most
at my age,
and of my disposition,
neurotic,
depressed,
pessimistic,
devoid of all naïve hope for a bright future,
I don’t worry much about
anything at all.

A friend,
on a somewhat frequent basis,
asks me,
“Don’t you worry about having a job?”
I just shrug and
focus on the breath I have to
release in order to vocalize the
response
ripe with the
occupational nihilism I possess.

I don’t worry anymore,
or nearly as much
as I used to,
about being alone.
No girl,
no love,
no kisses in the morning
when I wake to take a piss
and head back to bed.
It’s just one less person
to go out of my way
to buy a Christmas
and birthday present for.
Same goes for the
lack of fear of being
the last of my family.
My dad’s long gone,
I’m the only male with
my last name,
at least in this country,
and it doesn’t bother me.
Whenever I’m out
and that little bell goes off
inside the hyperactive mind
of a 6 year old boy
that tells him
“Come on, you little fucker,
you’re not getting what you want,
so you better let every last cocksucker in this store know,”
I think:
“Good lord, kid, shut up, it’s just a piece of plastic.
It’s just some stupid, lifeless, soulless, meaningless
quick cash in movie.  It’s just something
that will mean jack shit to you in 2 days.”
So, you can imagine what kind of
a father I’d be.

So,
no,
I do not worry
about a stable job,
an everlasting love
a child to carry on my traits,
or a witty ending to this poem.