Twas Night Before Deadline Poem by John Kielmeyer

'Twas night before deadline Unemployment runs out, All the people were worrying Especially my spouse. The bills were all hung in the kitchen with care In hopes that money soon would be there. The children asleep all snug in their beds With no thoughts of problems dancing in their heads, With me hiding my grief and she feeling trapped We both settled in for a long, bitter, spat. Still up at dawn, amid all the chatter, Hope springs ahead, to the heart of the matter. Why run through a window? Don't make it smash. Tear open the statements, there is no more cash. The look on my face, crestfallen, will show The bluster of my anger rings abjectly hollow, When what to my glistening eyes should appear But middle class blight, with no end near. With little to no jobs, the stigma will stick. 'I have no more money, there is no quick fix.' More rapid than eagles the notices they came And I bristle and shout out and call them by name. 'No power, no answer, no chance or conviction, Oh damn, it's putrid to ponder this position.' The ground is all scorched, there's no hope in my call. 'No cash today, cash today, no cash, at all.'
As my parents before this generation pass by, When met with an obstacle, we ask, 'how high? ' So back to the desk top, my spirits anew, A head full of ideas, and resumes too. And then in my looking for concrete proof, The chafing and closing of too little noose. As I think in my head, 'it is turning around, ' My heart sinks with knowing, no money is found. With the stress I incur from my head to my boot, My reputation is tarnished, my career is now moot. No wonder our joy is hung on a rack, I feel like a straggler, trailing the pack. Her sighs, how they rankle, so simple it's scary, My checks like rocks, fees unnecessary, The toll each month drawn against a big zero, And fear creeps in, 'does everyone know? ' The lump in my throat belies the seethe. The next phone call brings less peace. My broad shoulders slump, their reception so chilly, My confidence shaken, 'Am I just being silly? ' We all feel the slump like a debt on a shelf. We laugh in its face, in spite of our self. In the blink of an eye, I have no more bread. Just so I know, I have so much to dread. I speak many words while I'm looking for work. I feel they are mocking, smile replaced by a smirk.
And laying my hubris, aside a strong pose, And needing a job, poverty I suppose. I spring awake each day, to the dream I whistle, Its all I can do, until it's official. And I hope to exclaim before I fade from sight, Best wishes to all, keep fighting the good fight.