Gasoline Men working through the Ages Long, boring tedious work Searching dumbly for something to say In the sovereign of the machines Some men talk politics and talking politics Is perfect when they’re angry and Frustrated with the “thing” The onslaught of propaganda on radio And television floods their sight The price of gasoline has risen again As I hear one of the boys say,”we should bomb Iraq and Get this thing over with, so we won’t be paying So much at the pump.” More angry at Fate than Iraq; he talks with a trembled voice, And the guys talk and argue amongst themselves As their voices approach something like music I stay quiet though, barely having the energy To make it through the day, Sick psychically and physically and lucky in a strange way Because having a job isn’t as bad as not having one And there is the evenings, were I can buy a pint Of very cheap vodka and ride a train, Perhaps having an interesting conversation With an interesting person Parrying police officers, hostile drivers And such things To sit in a car on a college campus, drinking the vodka— Making the moment sweeter, while thinking of: high school, Those men and women in the warehouse, And my family at home not knowing I am alone, Drinking the vodka Which tastes like gasoline