Commute

January 26, 2018

Tired eyes stare out
At nothing at all
From jaundiced skin
Caused from a liver
Put through years of hard-liquor fueled labour
Meaty fists
Slipping into
A brown paper bag
A Naya bottle
Full of brown gold
Crown Royal?
Canadian Club?
Doesn’t matter;
Poison d’jour.
Sadly riding the train
Empty.
Devoid.
Moved here
To escape the demons
The old country presented
Only to find
The old country and the new
Are largely the same.
Corrupted for
Those who hold power
There was no dream
Just drunk morning hours.

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