Poem: Out of Work

by Dave Hood

It’s early morning, cloudy and rainy.
Slept poorly due to worry.
Neighbors departed for work.
Street quiet as a ghost town.
Like a shut-in, I sit in this silent house,
sip my hot coffee, read the newspaper.
Headline reads: “Unemployment Rising,”
while listening to the litany of depressing news
on CNN television. There’s a story about
a murder, another about a fire, another on
a homeless man who worked
for the auto industry.

Downsized thirteen months ago,
without an interview. I think to myself:
Life savings vanishing.
Unable to pay mountain of bills.
Unable to fill fridge with food.
Creditors telephoning every day
like hungry rats waiting to feast.
How long must I search?
Feels like an inescapable nightmare.
Perhaps I’ll become one of the homeless
like the guy on CNN.


About Dave Hood

Lover of poetry, fiction, creative nonfiction. Professional photographer and writer. Without the arts, life would be rather mundane, like a walk down the same old path on a dull day.
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