Sputterpub's Blog

When I was young, I thought a lot was wrong
With me; I tried and failed conformity,
And came to like myself. To not belong
Turned out okay. But one normality
May be the death of me – my teeth were strong,
And seemed to grow and function perfectly.
But that was just a phase of false morale;
Last week I underwent a root canal.

We’re sick of staying in to not get sick.
We have acute fatigue about the news
that we can be assured will pluck and pick
the slant they think the audience will choose.
Who listened weeks ago may not excuse
predictors mumbling till their errors slide.
We’re ignorant but won’t ignore the clues
experience displays. We’re best outside.

The custom of a work week five days long
has dominated culture all my span,
and Wednesday marks the middle as we throng
to cross the hump to Saturday, and plan
to shop or hop to leisure if we can,
to rest at home with family, or mix
with friends, to clean or weed or try to fix
that broken object we will not replace.
Now Wednesday like a middle finger sticks
a token of entrapment in my face.

I felt a little lightness yesterday,
and thought in this environment of plague
and wide unrest, to hide it or I’d pay
a price in lurking guilt and murky shame.
For most the day no trouble seemed to weigh
on me – I felt content and calm as ponds.
I should have just enjoyed, I have to say,
for morning found me antsy with a vague
disquiet, desperation, and dismay.