Bombardier? More Like Bomb-My-Head

Bombardier.

Heard of it.

Probably seen one fly over my house on a Saturday morning.

Waking me up.

Because of course it did.

Nothing gets a good sleep in this goddamn house.

Not the kids.

Not the dog.

Not the hangover I’ve been cultivating since Thursday.

Now some rich prick flying his private jet.

Loud as a motherfucker.

Probably off to some corporate golf retreat.

Sipping mimosas.

While I’m here.

On the toilet.

Trying to remember if I paid the electric bill.

And what exactly I promised my wife I’d fix this weekend.

Something about a leaky faucet.

Or my life.

Same difference.

Bombardier makes planes, right?

Trains too.

Or did they sell off the train bit?

Who gives a shit.

All I know is they make big, expensive things.

Things that make noise.

Things I can’t afford.

Things that remind me I’m still stuck in economy plus.

If I'm lucky.

Usually it’s a beat-up Toyota with a check engine light that’s been on since Obama’s first term.

And it smells like stale beer and broken dreams.

No Bombardier for me.

Just a bombardier of responsibilities.

And a splitting headache.

That’s the trend I’m living.

Every goddamn day.

Wish I could afford one of those planes.

Not to go anywhere.

Just to fly it over my ex-boss’s house.

Real low.

At 3 AM.

Teach him about loud noises.

Maybe drop a couple of empty Jameson bottles.

Just for old time’s sake.

Nah.

Too much effort.

I’ll just scroll.

And probably go back to bed.

If the kids ever shut up.

Fucking Bombardier.

Don't even get me started on the prices of their stock.

Another thing I missed out on.

Always something.

Always a goddamn something.