POEMVEMBER 2018-DAY 13: “Wet Leaves Stop The Traffic”

“Wet Leaves Stop The Traffic” ©️C.P. Hickey 2018

“Wet Leaves Stop The Traffic”

A friend texted that her morning train was delayed due to wet leaves on the tracks.

I’ve heard most if not all the excuses the transit authority uses for poor service, but I agree with my friend: this is a first.

It would seem slippery Leaves would lubricate the movement of wheels on a track, but maybe that is not what is needed.

Still, it seems like a pretty bullshit reason.

Yet, the boxcars full of commuting cattle was delayed indefinitely.

I mean, eventually it moved, but not before thousands of texts, and emails, and false promises were made.

Hell, if I was on that train, I would have been inclined to call in sick.

And just for fun, I’d tell them that I can’t come in because there are wet leaves on my bedroom floor, and in the hall, and in the bathroom, and down the stairs out the door, and all the way to the train.

I wouldn’t want to slip.

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POEMVEMBER 2018-DAY 12: “Day In Day Out”

“Day In Day Out” ©️ C.P. Hickey 2018

“Day In Day Out”

If I paddled upstream,

I would remain in place.

Everlasting lines at the grocery,

Folks fighting tooth and nail over clipped coupons.

The is no clear cut winner in that scenario despite whomever wins.

Facebook comments are often misleading and misinformed.

Ranting and raving is rewarded with a higher blood pressure.

Some salad bars are filthy.

The sneeze guard is filthiest.

That is of course, until you pick up tongs that may or may not have fell on the floor.

Day in day out, disappointment looms large.

I remain impressed by how bad it can get, and how quickly that can happen.

And then, somehow, I remember everything I forgot

“Deactivation”

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“Deactivation”

I achieved a mild milestone:

When I deactivated my Facebook account.

Saving face,

More space for wonder.

Thoughts replace reactions,

And newer sincerity brews cautiously in my percolator.

Eventually, the contents of my vessel will be infused with renewed hope.

If not, I’ll just add sugar and cream.

Stir it up.

I’m sure I’ll fall into a library and get lost among the stacks.

I’ll look for a reference book on methods of discourse and logic; likely the Greeks.

Embracing the choice of unlearning bad habits.

Then, putting that book the fuck down,

And speaking with a fellow human.

Engagement.

Not virtual, but real reality.

The art of conversation has been lost,

And we can’t wait for lingual archaeologists to explain the WAS of it.

It’s needed now, most especially.

“I Would Rather Be A Mystic”

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“I Would Rather Be A Mystic”

In a world of vanity,

I would rather be a mystic.

Deranged politicians espouse morality while acting immorally.

Intellectuals are derided for pursuing knowledge,

And uneducated citizens take exception to discourse.

The asylum is being run by the inmates,

And apathy grows prominent by the minute.

Human blight, cheering on the failure of progress.

Twisted hearts hate for hate’s sake.

The truth is right there at the end of our noses,

But the comfort provided by cowardice Trumps reason.

Grow up!

If you keep going left and right,

You will be traveling in a circle.

Immobilized.