It sucks living with a self-satisfied singer

Who sings about fields and wide open lands

Grows limp facial hair and has on his wrist

Two homemade bracelets and three friendship bands –

Who works part-time jobs at tiny thrift shops

Eats dry oatmeal for lunch and kale for dinner

Wears torn, worn out T-shirts about rampaging cops

And plays beer games with a needle and spinner –

Whose legs are more white than cod on the sand

And whose face is more milky than a vanilla shake

Who whines about how bosses don’t understand

And rent is for losers who live for work’s sake.


Check out my story collection Space Command and the Planets of Doom: