Nostalgia Is The Opiate Of The Masses

Run home,
escape
from the slippery slopes of 
scarring work
and jostling street; come
into the shabby house

and stab the button on
the old kitchen boombox, bring up
the Chi-Lites, soothe
yourself on “Oh, Girl,”

get yourself in check
and bust open the last beer
to Busta Rhymes, power up with 
AC/DC, curse your exes
with George Strait…

if it gets you through the scant time
you’re not being offended and 
tortured, it has gotta be
enough.  

Close your eyes
for two minutes, it turns into
two hours — it’s not enough

but it’s gotta be enough.  

This is how
they want it, how they want you —

no matter if you are
joker, smoker, or toker; no worries
if you keep it at home —
come back to the office, humming
or not;

just make damn sure
you come back.