Excerpts from
joblessness
Copyright © 2025 Greg Philby
1.
Copyright © Greg Philby
homeless guy at the bar next to me
smells like onions and tar.
says to me he had a bad day.
shows me his arm full of dried blood.
‘got hit by a car. just ran into me
like I wasn’t there. ruined my bike.’
said he came in to calm his nerves,
to have a beer though he can’t afford it.
says to me, ‘so how about you.’
same thing I said
except I don’t have a bike.
Copyright © 2025 Greg Philby
6.
Copyright © Greg Philby
thought I’d write a novel.
use up all this idle time
doing something worthy.
learn a language.
reinvent myself.
clean the basement.
I walked the dog by the lake
today and decided to not
drown myself,
then cleaned the basement
fridge of beer.
worthy enough.
Copyright © 2025 Greg Philby
8.
Copyright © Greg Philby
the neighbors are all gone to work, doing
what I used to do, and I am useless, bending
the grass and hosting flies and am pretty
much not going to last on this earth for
many tomorrows but they don’t have today
do they.
Copyright © 2025 Greg Philby
11.
Copyright © Greg Philby
past me goes a young boy on a bike
tooling serenely through his life,
a plastic sword stuffed down the back of his blue superman T-shirt
like a spinal brace
the hilt rising up against the back of his skull.
he cusses at his bigger friends
who leave him behind for no reason
and the sword in his back wobbles
but won’t leave him
nor will the malaise of distance
no matter how hard he pedals.
I’m with you boy. I get it.
well fuck it anyway.
fuckity fuck fuck god damn
mother of hell, you fuckers, fuck you...
let it fly, boy,
let it fly,
because that is the one movable thing
Copyright © 2025 Greg Philby
13.
Copyright © Greg Philby
So the coroner,
he comes up, throws a sheet
over my head.
Says I’ve been dead
9 hours maybe 10
and I want to choke
his Harvard white throat
with my frozen purple hands
to tell him ‘you dumb fuck,
I’ve spent my whole life going dead.’
Missed opportunities,
minus 2 years right there.
Not giving a shit
when I probably should’ve.
Minus 2 more.
Too lazy for friends.
The girl who broke my heart.
Hell, make that six.
Hell, make that bars full.
Losing my job.
Losing my youth.
Losing my dog.
Too dirty for church.
Watching my health curl up
like yellow toes.
Minus minus minus.
I’ve been dead for god damn years.
But I guess I really don’t give a shit.
That’s minus 2 more.
9 hours maybe 10
sounds more accomplished
so sure, write it the fuck down.
And dead is dead.