Murphy's Law

Yesterday, I was not hungry. All I wanted was a cigarette. I watched a woman suck one down. I watched her toss the lipstick stained filter to the ground. As someone offered me a buttered bagel, I watched her stomp it with a high heeled boot. Today I found an abandoned pack of cigarettes with fourteen left. As I smoked one, I watched a man take two pulls of his cigarette and throw the remainder to the ground to slowly burn on its own. Why didn't that happen yesterday?

Murphy's Law.

Today, my stomach is the only one who talks to me. I watch a man take a bite of a hotdog. I watch him make a face as if he drank sour milk. I watch him throw the entire thing into the trash. I watch a woman read the nutrition chart on the back of a granola bar. I hear her whine to her friend about her weight. I watch her eat the entire thing in three bites.  As I light another cigarette, I wish I saved my buttered bagel. Why had I eaten it when I wasn't even hungry?

Murphy's Law.

Yesterday I lay in the storefront of the bodega. I chatted with the owner who by now knows me on a first name basis. I was tired, so I curled up, but couldn't manage to sleep.  Today I fall asleep upon closing my eyes as if I took a handful of sleeping pills. Today, the owner must have called in sick because some guy I've never seen before kicks me until I wake telling me I can't sleep there; bad for business; blah blah blah. Why couldn't this guy have been here yesterday instead?

Murphy's Law.

On days when optimistic thoughts seem to bubble in my head like a shaken soda begging to be let out, I cannot get hold of a pen. But today, as negativity surrounds the brain, I am left to reread a list of complaints. Why must pessimism bleed through my writing? Why can't I record happiness? In case you're wondering why my poems consist of so much pain..

Murphy's fucking Law.


(Written for rose_lepinski's Comptetion "Pain")