by Sam Battig



Sleeping through the evening singing

Dreams inside my head;

I’m heading out –

I’ve got some ins who say they care,

And they just might.


I’ll run away with you,

If things don’t go as planned;

Planning big could be a gamble,

I’ve already rolled the dice.


I spit and stutter,

Stuff and clutter;

Worries in my worried corner,

And adjusted – just untrusted.


Rusted sometimes 

Sometimes brilliant thoughts;

Think I’ll stay for a while; I’m intrigued –

And I’m red as a newborn;

Write as a corpse.



I met Sam at Bank of America,  where he works as a teller.  I see him almost every day.  He is a hard worker, efficient and amicable.  He is well-liked and respected by his colleagues.

I recently learned that he is an aspiring poet.  He leaves his poems on the desks of his co-workers in an attempt to encourage them and brighten their day.  With Sam’s permission I am posting his work for a wider audience.


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