Staring was quite a luxury for him
Unblinking, the opaque screen was nonplussed still
How could it
Soulless, it talks without responding
Outside the freezing light-filled space
Motorists noiselessly zoomed pass
Under his breath came a choiced curse
Once inadvertent, now emitted nonplussed
Flickering neon numbers were certainly bigger yesterday
Four digits the result of a month's toil
Figures he wished higher everyday
Instead of one rollercoastering downhill
Where had they gone, he wonders
House, cars, bills, kids, he figures
Where else, he himself quizzes
Or, was he leaking like a sieve, he shudders
He sighed a resigned resignation
Fingers to panel, a three-figure number keyed
His mind tired to feign even frustration
Thinning wallet patiently waiting to be filled
A whirling of mechanicals then
The sweet, sweet sound of notes chugged
As he waits for a modern day drug
Stuck in an unfortunate, uncontrollable den
Pieces of paper jeer through an open orifice
In blues and reds, they beckoned his taking
What will be a week’s sustenance, for fuel and meals
Swapped from machine to wallet swiftly unflinching
Out popped his card, a small receipt follows
Black prints on white, its surface warm to the touch
Pulled it out, three digits the balance shows
The two behind, alas, not worth that much
Monthly toil
Gone in a whiff...
No comments:
Post a Comment