Labor Day
a poem
I wasn’t a better man when I was delivering pizzas or constructing sandwiches on the night shift but I knew more people who were living from check to check— who didn’t make enough cash to save any cash. I didn’t have any money, either. I measured my life by my car’s gas gauge, by the dread of watching the tank get emptier and emptier until, only halfway home, when the fuel light flashed red, red, red, red.
"I didn’t have any money,
either. I measured my life
by my car’s gas gauge,
by the dread of watching
the tank get emptier
and emptier until, only
halfway home, when
the fuel light flashed
red, red, red, red."
this hit home hard, from a time before; when measuring out monetary worth by packs of cigarettes and gasoline left to burn was considered the blessing of the everyday.
thank you, sir. damn fine poem. +1
i know this one. born and raised in texas, my daddy loved beer joints and honky-tonks so i started driving early on, he was sometimes a danger to others…had my first car at 13, a 1952 dodge…did not get a license until i was 18, texas after all…i would drive all the back roads from volente, where my maternal grandparents lived into austin, where i lived, picking up soda bottles to trade in for gas money. having a car back then, especially for a girl, was absolute freedom. i somehow never worried about money, i always worked…different these day though. but, much like blanche, through the kindness of friends, eh?, our extended family, we survive.