DEPRESSION POEM
His elbow rests on his knee and his chin is in
the palm of his hand
he fights off the urge for another drink or
another smoke or
another anything else that might
pretend to ease
that craving that
sense of waiting
he wipes his forehead with his palm and wishes the answers were there
but they are not there or
anywhere else
Hemingway took the cowards way out
leaving me here to state it plainly
life has no answers for you, pal
answers are not what we are here
for
***