It baffles me,

how women always have the upper hand,

and they tell me about it, “I make more money than you.”

There are men too.

These types are resolute.

I wonder who they will be in 30 years…?

They’re assholes—

so maybe, wrinkly.

There is no occupation worth my time.

I might look at a bum on the street with as much admiration

as a stock broker.

It doesn’t take any guts to be a bum, or maybe it takes more—

men die

by the dozens

for women

who betray them.

No life at all, is a life sentence.

There is only time to consider the waste.

And these men, who achieve a position—I might pass them in the hallway for 10 years

and say 10 words to them.

They are always speaking,

without saying anything.

What will happen at 65? Will these men and women retreat into their big homes, watch TV, play bingo, hug their grandchildren, look at their awards, come back to work, get older, go to the doctor, get cancer, watch the waning years like the moon, rewrite their stories in their heads, and lie to themselves until they are dead?

I don’t care about them.

I care about what I need to do, so that I’m not like them.

People don’t know what their last day on earth will look like.

I think about it all the time.

Will I slip-off in my sleep, like a dream?

Will I die in extreme pain?

Will there be loved-ones around?

Will I have time to reflect, gasping for my last breath?

I decided what it all means, I guess

but it’s better to be sure.