Self Portrait Without Colors
I have become my small routines
and temperate enthusiasms.
The days of my work week
are indistinguishable.
Saturdays are the bank, the liquor store,
and groceries; Sundays are gasoline
and cigarettes, Half Price Books,
and sportscasts. I am the ritual
banalities of days numbered,
numberless, and numb.
and temperate enthusiasms.
The days of my work week
are indistinguishable.
Saturdays are the bank, the liquor store,
and groceries; Sundays are gasoline
and cigarettes, Half Price Books,
and sportscasts. I am the ritual
banalities of days numbered,
numberless, and numb.
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Author's Note
From The Chronicles of His Demise
Other stories by Gary Hardaway
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Then there's the magic time when poems like this are written.
Thank you, Matt.
I like routines. Well said, Gary.
Thank you, Erika.
What Matt said.*
Thank you, Tim.
What Matt said some more. *
Thank you, Beate.
The weekends ring true as do the indistinguishable work days-good work.
Simply beautiful.
Thank you, Dianne.
No man so devoid of passion could write the poems that you do.*
Thank you, Gita.
Hey, Gary, stop cheering me up so much! Nice numbing poem, tho.