Unemployment (2)

Another day come, add it To the list, the Not to do list. Son of mine, I was rambling across the undercarpeting Strewn with imperceptible tacks In one shapeless slip-on When a pain rang out in my flank And I fell to, Braying, But who should answer but no one. I lost good cause that day, don’t ask, Let us sit a bit in this ill-starred Suit in the form-filling Chamber of subtraction, Listing. I haven’t another trip around the sun Left in me. Speak to me Son, vague one. For this is where it thickens, Me here and it there and me there and them here And you with the soul. I’ll cross that gravid boneyard All the day poking Radishes for remembrance. For this is a private matter Between a man and his scaffolding And it shall remain so Privation permitting.