“We don’t need you any more.”
Six words yield sixty miles per hour anxiety.
Swoosh, security vanishes.

“What am I going to do?”
Another six words. There’s no easy answer.
It took six months to land this job.

“Your mother is dying from cancer.”
Things were bad enough already.
She’d die in a month, with me on the dole.

“Lie in bed and eat potato chips.”
Sometimes life overwhelms.
I had to give in.

This poem was prompted by Totally Optional Prompts. You can read more poems from the same prompt.