why work

some work,
some don't, some stay at
home all
day
doing little
but passing time.
living on the fumes
of money
tucked away
for a rainy day.
the hours fly by,
reading,
getting in shape,
browsing the web
for jobs
they'll never take.
sleeping in the same
rooms they
did as a child.
the apron strings uncut.
some work,
some don't,
some
have parents to take
care of them
as if they were still
children,
as if they still had
time on their side
as they turn
grey and get old,
staring out
the window all day,
while
the rest of the world
moves on.