Depressed After Being Fired from Another Job
The black ant drags a bread crumb
clear across the kitchen floor.
That’s something else I can’t do.
Today I am 50 years old. 50!
Coming up the hill from the meat market,
I can see that my house is in sad shape.
The front porch sags, a window is broken,
and the wind chips off flakes of paint.
51, 52, 53, 54, 55, 56…70!
[from ALLIANCE, ILLINOIS, Spoon River Poetry Press, 1983]
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