The Pavement’s sizzling sitting in the merciless sun,
Got no money, no job, no friends, no wife, no life.
Used to be a high flying CEO, had the monied, extravagant life
Blew it all beginning with white lines on my plush desk
In my executive suite. Lost it all, even a beautiful, faithful wife,
That looked kind of like a famous social worker, Madonna Moss.
Now I shuffle in the sad streets screwed up and bumming money
For more drugs and the never lasting euphoric high, reduced to that.
Diving in dumpsters behind fast food restaurants for garbage food.
The homeless shelter doctor says I haven’t long to live, a year at best,
Doesn’t matter to me, my life sucks; it’s over anyway. I’m done.
Tomorrow I might jump off a bridge or walk in front of a freight train
And take my chances, heaven or hell if either exists, don’t care where.
If I can get a gun, I’ll put it to my head, pull the trigger and call it a day.
Bob Boyd