just got back from a meeting with the board

and they were not pleased with my lack of enthusiasm

for trying to write a Hollywood script—they said

it showed that I had a serious motivation problem,

that I would let my wife die if it meant another angry fix—

(I think the point of the board is to light a fire under my ass)

needless to say, I walked out of that dustless office room,

which smelled of high end leather, air conditioning,

and some brand of scotch whose ornate calligraphy was too fancy

for me to make out

(they had a great view too)—

anyway, I walked out of there smiling and with my head held high

but on the way home I noticed that everywhere I looked

there were businesses desperately attempting to boom,

I was walking through a glowing strip

of various services in exchange for money,

“all you can eat for $9.95,”

“girls girls girls,”

“sale of the year this week only,”

“your time is running out you bastard!”

lighting up the night and tattooed with sayings of our day,

advertising jingles screaming (with smiles) for customers—

but half of these places are going out of business, I noticed,

and for some reason I was disgusted by the whole thing

(I must have just been in a bitter mood)—

by the time I got home I had decided not to do anything

except smoke a blunt, relax, and maybe watch some TV,

but wouldn’t you know it, I am here writing this—

and I just heard Michael C. Hall doing a commercial for Dodge,

at least I think it was him—I bet they won’t put it up

on his IMDB page, but acting is a job like anything,

and it’s not all Black Swan and Crash—

next thing I know I’ll be going back to the board

with a Hollywood script in hand that will be terrible

but maybe I’ll make as much as Michael C. Hall did

from that Doge commercial

and hope that no one

recognizes my name in the desperate neon lights,

hope that no one sees that it’s me who is shouting at the top

of his lungs at every passing stranger and me

who is blending in with the surrounding sea of light

pollution on the night; and the passing strangers

with their no-thank-yous go

home and close their blinds tightly