Two paychecks away,
from the street.
dream house in foreclosure,
nothing to eat.
Can't sell the car,
can't drive it either.
May have to live in it,
until we get a breather.
Days were so sweet,
while socially climbing.
Spend all our time,
wining and dining.
We'd retire early,
on our 401(k).
Let poor slobs work,
while we play.
Our life was based,
on a workless deck of cards.
Structurally unsound,
now but shards.
What can we learn,
from the stress we are in?
To get off our workless asses,
and learn to work again.
Unknown Artis -Thailand
It's About Work, Not Jobs
More Poems
My Place
Read War's End, the
Novel
Copyright
2009 © Ronald W. Hull
2/7/09