Too little,
The rabbit,
Bukowski,
counted,
scheduled,
realized
that the clock
is unkind
and fate
unkinder,
In college
I went home
regularly
but the work week
doesn't have winter
or summer break,
and this town
isn't home yet
but it's the closest
thing to it,
Nights like
this I smoke
cigarettes on
my porch,
think about
what being a good son
is,
think about the nights
I didn't show up
for dinner when my dad
got home from his
forty hour weeks,
but it's all the times
I was there that bother
me the most.
NaPoWriMo #21 No prompt