The Brain

I have exactly eight minutes    
before an over-sized man    
greets my TV    
to berate his wife,  
ignore, generally, the middle child  
and act like a typical birdbrain  
for comedic value.    
   
It does make me laugh.  
   
That's the audience.    
My simple mind exists  
when work ends at One  
and there is driving lesson    
at five past.  
I put a five minute gap there  
for the cigarette I want.  
   
Sometimes I don't have one.  
   
Sometimes I stand in the cold  
and stare at the bizarre,    
hair-covered lady who  
walks the road, up and down,  
always at the time I leave.  
She stops every person  
for one of those quick chats.  
I turn the volume up,  
on the blues, when she passes me.  
   
She's used to it.  
   
I am used to this.    
At eight twenty each morning,  
a lad on his bike  
crosses my path on his way    
to college.  
I always think jail-bait.  
His blue eyes caught mine on Monday  
and I'm ever attracted to the piercing,    
the black hair and the fuck-you look.  
   
He has my concept.  
   
Finally I settle down,  
turn on my computer    
after another robotic day,  
stare at the screen  
for three hours before actually deciding  
to be constructive.  
After, when I've written something, I sit    
and wait for someone  
to have noticed the insignificance    
and how it has somehow    
remotely become relevant to their world.  
   
That seems counterproductive and narcissistic  
of me  
but it lives  
in the complication of one simple head.  
   
   
...The fat guy is on...