Boulder Wagon

Sunset at a halo past three;
Race against daylight
To winterize the yard.
Leaf blowing against the wind
And raking on the tar.

Gain and gasoline
All on my sweatshirt.
Smells like home, sweet home.
Thirty five degrees too cold.
Thirty five degrees.

Overdose epidemic
Hittin' the hard-hitters hard.
No equilibrium on the
Supply and demand.
Can't even mourn the dead.

I have to count on
My fingers,
My toes,
And a handful and a half.
But even then,
Tremors take over sometimes.

Trying to hold the mirror still,
But Cassius is talking about
Turning it some which-way.
Thermotropism:
Oriented growth in relation to a heat source.

Projects, meth labs, behind dumpsters.
Welfare office, morgue, convenient store.
Places the sun doesn't shine.
Almost pitiful,
But it's all too suitting.

Mr. Officials in uniforms
Watching the straight-edge with the solar panels
'Cause he'd rather invest,
And fall of the grid eventually.
Tax payer dollars are dispersed all twisted.

Vegan lifestyle with a hybrid Prius,
A Miata, and one bank account.
Six credit cards,
804 score.
Credit for a junker is when you front a fiver.

Caught up with an old buddy
At the gas station down the road.
Offered company and a brew.
He said he hadn't been drinking lately,
Time to cross the tracks and restart.

Three a.m. really is the witching hour.
Woken up by scouring,
That is, if I was asleep.
Say, where'd his gold tooth go?
Don't ask, don't tell.