Somebodies old socks have torn

Somebodies old socks have torn
and I never meant to be a bag
with a hole in it-
not the least bit of cares
but a worry undutiful to the mind
with your beefcake junksters
riding in the passenger seat
and you hit the gas
no movement as you jerk the wheel
across the road your dignity ran
(at least you know you had it)
but as the wind sweeps
and the sun goes down
a tiny tear is used to wash my cares
and I find a rose under the stairs
it has my name on it-
like a hero from the movies, 
a none other than comical character
I see that I have been born
and my mother eats panty hose
to keep her warm in the winter
my sisters all laugh
and my brothers aren't alive
(I never had any)
so as I cough up integrity 
I try to close my eyes 
without shutting them
and I chase away the worry
and I don't complain....

CLJ 1997