Fix My Stairs

I had a great time in Florida

I was treated like a respected journalist

I got interviews with important people

Got asset discs

I was treated with respect

And trusted to handle important information with dignity and strength.

I come home and

Strange bag ladies on the corner

Ask me to come fix their stairs

Because I look like I can

I come home and

There's decimation in my house

I come home and I have to fight

With paint and lumber and

Dust and hate, anger, and misery.

I don't know if it's worse

To not have a taste

Or to have a taste

And then have to go back to withdrawals.

But she has a point

I can fix her stairs

I am so sick of this shit.