Jay eats tech for breakfast.
He lives next to us.
Bikes, wrench sets and pipes in his hallway,
Books, boxes and bags in his crawl space.
Never a dull day.
Doesn’t stop on the holidays.
Shit’s hanging from his ceiling.
In the living room,
We can see him kneeling.
The lawn in the yard lies lost under cars,
Tires, belts and bars,
Piles of parts,
The driveway’s locked up like a roadblock.
The gate’s locked,
Socket sets scattered,
The house is in tatters.
The windows are shattered,
Jay sleeps in the bathroom.
It’s the last room.
He sleeps on a bathmat there in the afternoons.
There’s no more room in his bedroom,
No bed, head or leg room.
I think this might end soon.
He can’t get out and I don’t doubt his death looms.
And if he don’t pay his rent,
By tomorrow at noon,
And the landlord can get through,
The gate locked and the roadblock,
To see what his house has turned into,
He might just kill him.
Jay sure likes to eat tech for breakfast.