It's My Morning, His Afternoon

I’m in the convenience store
I’m getting my iced coffee
The man comes in the store carrying his baby
I’ve had a dirty three days
And I’m hung over
I feel like crap
Both physically
And in the soul
Things have been done
Sex (empty and with the wrong people)
That probably never should have been done

I see the man carrying the baby
He’s showered
He looks clean
Shiny, white sneakers
And white socks running a quarter way up the shins
And his shorts look khaki and nice
His T-shirt says ‘Staff’ and it’s neatly tucked into his shorts

It is evidently clear:
This man did not drink the night before
He went to sleep at a reasonable time
And got up early
He probably went to Church earlier
He’s clean and crisp
And he’s got a fresh baby in the portable cradle thingy
Fresh life
Clean slate
Clean soul
Not yet tainted by the dirtiness of life

I never wanted to be so normal
And I never wanted to be so ordinary
But this morning I do
I want to be an ordinary man
With an ordinary job
An ordinary marriage
And an ordinary family
And an ordinary religion

I want to be that ordinary man
That man’s soul is clean this morning
Or, fuck, it’s afternoon
It’s my morning, his afternoon…


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