DEPRESSION POEM

   His elbow rests on his knee and his chin is in
 
   the palm of his hand

   he fights off the urge for another drink or

   another smoke or

   another anything else that might

   pretend to ease

   that craving that

   sense of waiting
 
 

   he wipes his forehead with his palm and wishes the answers were there

   but they are not there or

   anywhere else

   Hemingway took the cowards way out

   leaving me here to state it plainly

   life has no answers for you, pal

   answers are not what we are here

   for
 
 

   - David Jackson

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