On wasted afternoons

nothing of value
was kept in my stomach
nothing but stale pizza and pink juice
dropped off the rent, picked up a little spending cash
and I was on my way to nowhere
stopped off at a corner drug store to break a twenty
couldn't decide on anything that was worth its price in silver
the paper I hadn't even earned
half hour later waltzed out with a gallon of one percent
(I thought it prudent)
and into the damp air, cluttered with white smog

the scent of rain
burned in my nostrils
delightful though it was,
it didn't seem to satisfy my lingering hunger
nor did it divulge any secrets
of love
fame
fortune
it just fell on my gallon and on my head
something so essential
seemed so inconsequential
now that police lights are flashing all over the city
and caution cones encircle never-ending projects
and my car won't stop rattling but
the light at least stays on, even when I don't want it to
and my milk will soon spoil
and the fridge remains empty (save the gallon)
and the wind won't stop blowing
because the world continues to spin on its axis

at least the rent was due
and my bills were paid out of a dwindling bank account
so now, I walk somberly into my basement
to write of wasted time
and merriment
of rain drops and mud
to tide my mind over
until the next great poem
comes falling from the sky