Manolo says, it is Monday and you are back in your office thinking about life, changing careers, and Prufrock.

I have known them all already, known them all:
The commuter’s evenings, mornings, afternoons.
My car, coffee cups throughout are strewn
Papers ones from the Starbucks by the mall.
Now, beneath the dash there is no room
So, I should get a broom.

And I have known the mornings steady, known them all:
Mornings that break early, bright and fair.
[But, in the afternoon, clogged with smoggy air!]
Is it the floorboard mess
That makes me so digress?
Mornings that lie along the road, or languish while the traffic crawls.
And should I send my resumé?
And what should my cover letter say?

Shall I say, I have gone back to school for my poetry MFA?
And watched the student loans defaulting,
With lonely writers in shirt-sleeves, working as barristas?…

I should never have been an actuary,
Scuttling across the spreadsheets of silent seas.

“I am Yves Saint Laurent, come from the dead,
Come back to tell you all, I shall tell you all”