Alas... End of the Age Pome

The Last Thursday of my 36th Year:
I worked my day as usual with clock management
Rush, hurry up rush, “I’m not gonna make it” sung to the tune of Twisted Sister

Talked across cables to my Pops and remembered earlier in the day he refuses to stand in lines that are too big
“I spent enough time in the Army in line”

Life out west is all about lines and queues and ones and zeroes
My life is a no huddle offense
And I am no Peyton Manning in this huddle

Bonus Drivel as I did not make my self imposed dead line that no one in the universe cares about but me:

Freds:
My fielding is more Freddy Fender
Than Freddy Sanchez

More End of the Age Pomes... please bare with me the week is almost done and i can put this nonsense behind me

The Last Wednesday of my 36th Year:

Jotted down some notes on some scratch paper with messy work hair before 7AM
This one is going to be a doozy, a throw back of greatest hits and poop and pop reference of mein history
Nope and a nada left it face down on my office plank

I see smoke on the horizon, the after burn of what I hope would be a hot fuss for this one small section of a loophole year
Moved thru traffic, a work day and 2 pieces of cold pizza

My best ghost days still ahead of me I shuffle off to the garbage shoot and remember I do my part by throwing the recycling down the garbage on my testy days
Requested to not grace the office with my presence for one measly day next week and was met in the middle…typical fargin’ typical
Today needs a nap

The End of an Age Pomes

The Last Monday of my 36th Year:
Doomed sunny weather be gone this holiday
Gloomy day indeed I need you as an excuse in my back pocket to stay in sort baseball cards and eyeball everything but the eyeballs on my computer “Don’t blame me it was overcast and sprinklin’”

The apartment takes on the bachelor life as well
Well manicured and scrubbed counters grow a milk and sugar cereal spoon
Deep fiber cleaned carpet sprouts a toupee of dirty clothes
The walls surrounding have a slow pulse of naps and well preserved sweet items
Dining room table housing the casualties, flattened heroes of the diamond as the flicker box replays the greatness from last year

I enjoy a bed for the last time as a 36 year old boy man, soon banished back to a bag, that may be comfortable but only as a spur of the moment sleep, not a hearty lumberjack sleep needed

Shuffle and clean and put the best foot forward after the game and stretch out with the satisfaction that I got to watch my kind of game
Oh Rohlinger, Downs and good ole Eli you are not lost on me I think as I try to drift off knowing the shot clock for an eye opener work day will be sounding soon.

The Last Tuesday of my 36th Year:
I sputter on the muddy coffee and yet marvel that I was tricked by 3 day old coffee passing itself off as fresh and hot due to a good insulating pot

Pick up on the stories of the younger, better looking co workers

They may be more exciting but I am one weekend away from my Hermit badge

Ring, dial, ring, soda, piss, lunch and called in to “talk”
On last check I was a grown man who had paid dues in the form of taxes, student loans, credit card debt and broken hearted antics
But alas I am a predator of an extra ten minutes many a day for lunch- I be better me be good me sorry

Head back to base and quickly outlive my usefulness, answer some questions, answers are argued, get ignored, rinse and repeat
My thinning hair and damp brain need some cool air and a book store trip
No muttering and muttering on the walk as a solo artist becomes a trio

In the home stretch being invisible is not that bad, my wind wonders and I make the decision to collect a utility player card due to his awkward autograph
Life is just… uhhhh …. Can I get back to you on that?