I've always liked this poem. Needless to say, it was a bleak time in my life. Still, I think it has some merit.
Aboard Flight from Seattle-Atlanta Jan. 12, 1985, 12:24 a.m.
There is no rest for men like us
In rooms like these
Sleeping, beyond hope
Friends, beyond effort
Women, beyond consideration
There is no sleep for men like us
Rest, beyond memory
Pills, too tolerated
Fingers, too yellow
Eyes, too red
They see us next day
And shake their heads
While snug they cuddled
Dreaming dreams in young heads
There was no rest for men like us
Alone in our rooms
Staring across at our wall
Brothers under the skin
Not knowing at all
Of the thousands of others just like us
Who come home from work
No hope for a smile or a joke
Who sit and we smoke
And wait for morning to come
Our eyes never shut,
Behind them runs a continuous movie
Of whatever it was that crushed out our dreams once and for all
So we stub out a butt in a tray full of dust
And brush at our teeth
And maybe pick a clean shirt
An extra day’s baggage hung from our eyes
And head to the streets
A little more worn
There is no rest for men like us
Who sit through the night
As quite simply we must.
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