Living the Blues

Living the Blues

Living the Blues

A Poem by John Grey

I’ve got the personal pronoun blues.

The lobster in the aquarium is looking at me funny.

And there’s a big dog on the loose.

Meanwhile, I hear they’ve just hired a new head of network planning.

And you wonder why I’m so down.


The FBI is uncertain as to whether or not I’m a good citizen.

I’m finding it harder and harder to communicate with the younger generation.

Nothing is sacred. Not even my wife in a black dress.

And I have a feeling I’ve been swallowed by a big fish.


I just can’t get out from under.

It’s New Year’s Eve and I’ve just seen the x-rays.

I’m having to say “sorry” on a regular basis.

I never once get sent in off the bench.

And yes, none of my jackets fit.


It’s got nothing to do with B B King or Muddy Waters.

My blues come strictly from my sheep-like adherence

to my own concerns.

Nobody has faces but me.

The mailman is a Fascist.

I begin every sentence with “Not good.”

I end them the same way.

The world is changing and I can’t keep up.

And I’ve forgotten all those old dance steps.


So what’s a guy to do?

Play hopscotch? Move to some place called Scarsdale?

Send for the wreckers? Nail a moose head to the wall?

It’s like I sat down in a restaurant a month ago and I haven’t been served yet.

By the way, I’ve not cracked a smile in years.


Life’s like a piano where only the low notes work.

It’s a slave ship masquerading as a chess board.

And unfortunately it’s the job the agency sent me to fill.

Breathing has no sense of human decency.

So here I am, constantly telling myself

that, whatever I do it isn’t going to help.

Then someone calls and says they think they’ve found the trouble.

I’m an employee and I forgot to wash my hands.


Kodak America

Kodak America

Keeping the Stereotype Alive

Keeping the Stereotype Alive