California Dreaming

the moon shines through
your window again, and
you turn to the wall pretending
it’s not there, save for
the glow illuminating the
cursed yellow walls; nobody
paints bedrooms yellow unless
they’re going to be
awake all night all cranked
up on some crap like caffeine or
coke; playing with the kid’s Legos
while they are forced to
bed with a story, your cup of
coffee and cigarette smoke still
lingering hazy over
Bob the Builder sheets; even he
knows the crimes you’ve
committed tonight; yet you
toss and turn under the
silk you bought in case a
lover should emerge from
the paneling at Rudy’s on
Thursdays, when they have
two for ones and half price
chicken wings; still on
your breath and a doggie bag in
the fridge, cooling next to
the bottle of JD; because in the
summer you like to drink it cold - ice
waters it down, the
neater the better, like the house,
which is clean enough
for now, but could still
use a good bulldozer to rid
yourself of all those Sunday
papers filled with the
jobs you won’t get because
of lack of experience; so much
for the diploma - proven useless
in this economy; and the moon
still comes and goes each month, like the
wallflowers from Rudy’s stepping over
the truck and action figures
in the hallway on the way to
silk and walls painted yellow...