crutch

some days are angry wasps,

or lonely birds,

and I'm a colicky one,

never quite fit the puzzle piece,

caged in a damp shirt,

a box fan works the sticky heat through dusty spaces,

perched floors above,

the swarms of traffic,

rushing trucks bullet,

from deadline to deadline to deadline,

clenched jaws,

swallow the fatigue,

and long for the sanctuary,

of a good night sleep,

I'm not expecting tenderness,

or a comforting touch,

emotions remain an untamed ox,

when the mind is mush,

if everyday is a mountain climb,

than I'm a man with a crutch.