it is Friday,
thank fucking god,
and like my brain and belly,
the trash bin has been filling up,
getting smelly, needing to be emptied.
it's a draw string number,
don't know if it is brand name or not,
but it rips and I have to rig it
just to get it out of the can.
I wish I was at a resort
in the Bahamas or Colorado,
but I am not,
I am here wrapping my brain around this smell.
There should be a reggae song
about this, taking out the office garbage,
but there isn't, because it is gross,
and I feel unworthy these days.
I suck it up and walk down the hall,
passing the old brunette, who says hi,
and I say hi,
and then I toss the bag in the dumpster.
Let's call it a day,
complete with cleaned coffee carafe,
and so much more,
like the possibility of tomorrow,
and the where we go.