At the end of the week

three resumes, two interviews and a call later, it’s

not so hard to call the evening off, stretch out

catlike in a lazy chair with a beer

and shrug off the week’s worries

Newspapers tell me I’m not alone

half the people I know are without work or soon

to lose their paychecks, but still

get a twinge in my fingers when I smell old pages

in a used bookstore, that fragile paper

I know how to fix–get an itch

to do something

even though I’m supposed to be this lazy, represent a

generation entitled by middle-class baby-boomers and their

retirement funds

Can’t help feeling I ought

to be moving, going West with the rest of the invasion

of young men and post-grads

going somewhere more exciting than

cover letters and inkstained fingers

Let me show

my best and I promise I won’t

be like them, won’t take

anything for granted