Doug

A man who was in a desperate race to see whether he would die of skin or lung cancer first.

Nothing was special or different about Doug. He woke up and went to work everyday like me, except his eyes were blood shot from drinking the night before to forget the day before.

The lightest parts of his face were in between the deep wrinkles in his skin which were more abundant then normal for a man of his age.

His mornings were always the same. Smoking Joe's cigarette and a cup of black coffee.

The sun beats down on us. I douse myself in sunscreen. Doug refuses to wear it.

Doug yells at me for not working hard enough.

I don't even know what my job is. I don't know why I'm here.

Doug gets in his car and drives away.

The field is mine now. I'm not cut out for working. I want to go home but the day has just begun.

Comment 1:https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/9172ga/first_submission_reflections/

Comment 2: https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/916j5a/i_am_no_more/