Sputterpub's Blog

I went to bed a little after 9
the other night, although that might result
in pre-dawn waking. I could read the sign
of stress in neck and belly: much tumult
from tenants and concern about a kid
confirmed my bed the place that beckoned me.
I snuggled empty-minded, worry-rid,
till I was startled rude-awake at 3.

The sound of power sawing filled my space.
I rose and was confronted by the light
of firemen, who swarmed about the place
next door, and axed the roof, and filled my sight
with quick response. Perspective grew like glare.
I’m better now and watching roof repair.

Consumed with judgments no one wants to hear,
I let the criticism rip inside:
unfocused; sloppy; paralyzed by fear;
deluded by a needy ego; pride
engendered by a spoiled attitude
and peppered with a petulance as strong
as conscience ought to be; with manners crude
and sweet and humble like a hackneyed song.

It won’t do any good to use my voice
for warnings that will ever be ignored.
I heard the arrogance. I watched the choice,
and now I’ll read the narrative. The word
will twist the memory into a lie.
The only person listening is I.