Where Do You See Yourself? By April Ridge

Five years ago
I was struggling
to make ends meet,
working four part time jobs,
drinking on
a fisherman's wage.
Hoping the tides
would bring in a good haul.
Driving at 4 a.m.
Tuesdays and Thursdays
to the Kmart down south
to dry mop the whole store
with one other guy
who sadly couldn't even read
or write other than to sign checks.
I'd sweep and swab the deck
in the Little Caesar's,
dump the bucket,
walk out.
Take a nap
in my car
at the park
dreaming of
one single full time gig,
health insurance,
a full nights sleep
under a roof
that wasn’t ruled
by mice
or men.

April Ridge lives in the expansive hopes and dreams of melancholy rescue cats. She thrives on strong coffee, and lives for danger. In the midst of Indiana pines, she follows her heart out to the horizon of reality and hopes never to return to the misty sands of the nightmarish 9 to 5. April aspires to beat seasonal depression with a well-carved stick, and to one day experience the splendor of the Cucumber Magnolia tree in bloom.