The Everyday Under His Collar

I could see exhaustion under his collar,

the wear in the skin of his briefcase,

the trudge of his leather soles,



I remember the first thing I noticed,

was the weight of his eyelids,


the neglectful way he shaved along the folds

in his face,

causing sores and redness to erupt


the surface of his skin.

I could hear the dialogues spewing;

the sales calls,

cold calls,

warm calls,

folding over each other in a pit

near his stomach.

The failed,

the miserable,

the promises;

always of tomorrow.

The tomorrows’ building

into becoming nothing,


no thing at all.

"The Rain Must Fall"

Copyright © 2010 Nicole Rigets