yawning bobby

he doesn’t listen
he just stares
he scratches his belly
in his underwear

bobby talks, he
laughs a lot,
waves his hands
and he smokes up

curses Jesus and
reads the news, so
easily displeased
by contrary views;

numb from nagging
‘why don’t you chill’
—his foot’s asleep
on a windowsill

stays up late
he gets so tired
looks at the telly
flips through ‘for hire’;

now bobby’s skin
is showing signs
hair gone grey
in thinning lines

steps outside,
it’s still raining
‘I just got fired,
so stop complaining’

yawns out for
a caffeine hit:
‘I switched to decaf—
what made me quit?’

but no one listens;
bobby just stares.
he scratches his belly
in his underwear

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