deepundergroundpoetry.com

Positivity Can Wait

Stepping out onto the pavement
clasping his sixth bottle of beer,
wind whipped him.
Natures punishment, whispering,
you let me down.

Another failed interview this morning.
They were glad he came along.
He performed well, he thought,
but not well enough.

The pub offered sanctuary.
Limited funds unwisely invested.
Or wisely invested, at least he thought that today.
The park bench beckoned him,
no need to head straight home.
Pointless, in fact.

He sat. He paused. This felt good. The Wind settled.
He stretched out his legs and felt the evening breeze brush against his cheek.
He was not cold, not yet.
Denial, sadness, resilience, slow grief battled happily
and denial won for now.
The manager seemed fake.
It was over before it began.
A stitch-up, yes that helps.
It never felt right anyway.

Denial shifted to reflective contemplation.
A wise man once said
that success is the footnote of a page full of failures.
Idiot.
Well, footnote achieved.

Time passed. Life moved slowly.
The weather was dusky. He felt depressed.
He delayed going home.
He had all that to look forward to.
He couldn’t wait for the flimsy positivity binge
waiting for him at home.
The painful reality hidden within the unspoken brackets.
At least you tried (and failed.
Next time you'll do better (than you did today).
Try and learn (from this huge disaster).
Don't worry (we'll do that for you).
Just like last time.

Resilience flickered and went out.
Anger prodded him, gently but persistently.
The froth at the bottom of the bottle signalled
another successful clearance.
A man passed by, giving him the smallest of glances.
What was he looked at?
Maybe he wanted a fight
which was bad news for him if he did.
Actually, he was quite big.
Maybe tomorrow.

The seventh and final beer bottle beckoned.
He flicked off the cap with a satisfying ping
it landed on the floor
break danced for a moment then settled on the concrete.
He watched it for a moment.
He had all the prospects of that bottle top.
Poor bottle top.
Headed for the bin
and of secondary importance to the frothy beer of life.
What was he talking about? Uh oh, he thought, I'm drunk again.

It was time for bed.
He stood up, walked three paces and stopped.
He turned 180 degrees, setting off again.
In the right direction this time.
He would arrive at home, he thought,
drunk, penniless, unemployed, but alive.
They never appreciated that part,
they never did.

Anger shifted to resilience.
Tomorrow was the day
The breakthrough
He could feel it.
The new day brings new opportunity
and he would seize it.
His pace towards home quickened.
Positively can wait, tonight is euphoria.
He lifted his seventh beer to his lips,
and he drank to that.
Written by aaronblack
Published
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