What Gets Done When The Day Is Broken

The day was off to a slow start

I just can’t seem to get today together

I went through a normal morning routine,

But no great plans were set in motion

So I filled the day with mundane tasks

I went to the market,

Stared at the pretty housewives,

And bought a bunch of shit which looked like a good idea,

But when I got home,

None of it sounded appealing

I thought a trip to the park would do the trick

The one with the dog park inside

There’s usually a bunch of women and their puppies,

Good sights and tomfoolery

But not today —

Just an old man who smelled of piss,

And his mangled mutt,

Which, by his looks alone,

Probably didn’t smell much better

So I sat there and tried to write,

But today was not turning out,

The next great American poem

From there, I walked by the club,

Maybe a cocktail and shoot some pool,

Maybe a game of bocci, maybe horseshoes,

But I was told the usual crowd, my friends,

All packed up early, and called it a day

“Maybe you should do the same?”, asked the bargirl

And I can take a hint,

Especially when it’s been staring me down,

All day long

So I came home, made dinner,

And wrote you this

Sorry it wasn’t better,

But this is about as good,

As my day has been

© Dicky J Loweman 2015


Waiting Room

I sit with her in the waiting room

I’m here for support and the ride

I wish that I could be anywhere else

A bar, a boat, a beach,

A storm drain, a funeral,

Almost anywhere would be better

I have a deep hatred for waiting rooms

Magazines scattered everywhere,

Not a single one I would read

Woman’s Day, Ms., Glamour,

There are two other men in here,

And not a single magazine on sports

All four walls in here,

Are covered with bad contemporary art

It looks as if they’re posters in cheap frames

And, of course, the Bose ceiling speakers,

Which puke out barely audible elevator music

We’ve been sitting here for almost an hour,

When her name is finally called

“Be right back,” she says,

In her best ‘I’m not nervous’ voice

Then she slips though the door

And I’m left there,

With only boredom to contain myself

Thirty seconds later and she’s back

“Ready?”, as if she needed to ask

Then she slipped out the front door

An hour’s wait and a thirty-second visit

I have no idea what went on back there,

But something tells me,

It wasn’t free,

And I probably choose the wrong profession

© Dicky J Loweman 2015





I’m having one of those days

I’m in a lazy mood

And the overcast sky does nothing to help this

I shuffle around my house

In only my boxers

The same pair I wore to bed

I haven’t showered

And just brushing my teeth

Turned out to be a chore

It’s not a particularly bad day

I just can’t get motivated

My morning coffee did nothing for me

And the morning paper is just plain trash

I could clean something

Or make something to eat

But nothing sounds interesting enough

Maybe I’ll just have toast

Then I play the game I always do when I’m bored

I sit down and hand-write lists

Lists of people I need call

Bills that need to get paid

The shopping list, which will never make it to the store

I write lists and lists

I only do this out of boredom

I could manage perfectly well without any of them

But it’s oddly satisfying

And I manage a smile

When I think of how stupid this whole process is

But, hell

Some people do drugs

Others go and get their hair done

I write lists

Lots and lots of lists

© Dicky J Loweman 2015


Grey Area

Boredom consumes me

I can’t find peace

In this restless house

Everything looks askew, dirty and out-of-place

Kind of what I imagine purgatory would look and feel like

I think I should go for a walk

Get some air

Try to clear my head

Of this grey area

I seem perpetually stuck in

The wind is stronger than usual

I find that no matter the direction

I’m heading straight into its arms

The sky gives off a grey-ish tint

Reminding me of the thoughts I’m running from

I think I’ll wonder home

Fix a drink

And take a nap

Hoping when I wake

I can start


© Dicky J Loweman 2014