Regular Poem: Special Occasions

22 Mar

Saving special things
for special occasions
is all good and well and
special,
but as I thawed the last
tender, grass-fed sirloins
a previous roommate
had blessedly abandoned
in my deep freeze
and prepared to pan fry
them in gratuitous butter
at 11 pm on just a regular old night,
I thought to myself,

What’s more special than surviving

countless double shifts,
a power outage,
a denied promotion,
attacks and ripped blouses and lost buttons and bites and bruises and backaches?

What’s more special than
not having cried over things one can’t change
and should’ve forgotten by now anyway?

What’s more special than craving
good red meat and bad cholesterol?

What’s more special than living life
to whatever degree of success one can manage?

Every day is a new, same day,
another day of drudgery in paradise,
one more step up on a down escalator,
so excuse me for living.

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