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,

re-soled,

re-soiled.

I remember the first thing I noticed,

was the weight of his eyelids,

and

the neglectful way he shaved along the folds

in his face,

causing sores and redness to erupt

along

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,

not-a-thing,

no thing at all.

"The Rain Must Fall"

Copyright © 2010 Nicole Rigets