Morning Rituals in a Broken World: A Stark Poem

Broken World

It’s a good day.
I woke up early.
Sat at my desk.
Drinking coffee.

About to roll a doobie,
Looking out the window,
What do I see:

Yellow tram whizzes past
Filled with commuters.
A green tent is camped
At the base of a fir tree.

From the junction
A white man drags himself
Through these prohibited streets,
Hungry for an angry crack fix.

Good people of my generation
Have been destroyed by cocaine.
Broke and manic,
That raging sweet tooth
Could not bring some home
Back to the womb.

Unlike Bill,
I inhale, exhale,
Pick up the pen
And begin to pray.

It’s a good day.
I woke up early.
Sat at my desk.
Drinking coffee.