the Ballad of the key.

Heroic, he scartched his head,

turned the cellphone alarm off.

he can’t be late. needs this job.

got dressed as best he could,

out of laundry pile which was not yet washed,

so just the least-dirty one.

grabbed an apple from the counter,

exited the door, forgetting the keys.

decided to go to the job,

then hope the roommate will be back by tehy time he returned.

made his way to the bus station.

fingered his bus pass in his jacket.

at least he didn’t forget that.

ate the apple after he found a seat.

all teh while the bus went on,

he encouraged himself.

“at least i’m not a street cleaner”, when he saw a street cleaner.

“at least i’m not a taxi driver”,

when he saw a taxi driver arguing with the guy that drove back ,

damaging his bumper.

“at least i’m not a working for the power company”,

as he saw the guy hanging with the hydraulic lift.

“at least i’m not a traffic cop”

“at least I’m not a hotdog stand guy”

“at leats I’m not a delivery guy”

“at least...”

it went on like this as the guy noted every person doing work,

outside the slowly-moving bus.

the apple was not satisfying. it was old and mealy.

the guy relaized he craved something more substantial .

he dreamt of combinging breakfast menus of different chains together,

to form the super meal.

One day, when he’s rich and famous, or just about to die,

he would do this super meal.

A bucket list item.

he thought of a few more.

he never made it to work, as the bus fell off the bridge.

the key to the apartment was in his left jeans pocket after all.

he just never took it out the night before.