So you hunker down,
you dig your heels deep into the soil,
you white-knuckle it,
you smile and wave,
and you breathe while you wait.
You soak up the sun,
you smell the stinkin' flowers,
you mow the lawn,
scrape the waste from the plates,
shower and shave,
and you read.
You read a lot.
You think about what you want to say,
scream, put on a billboard,
while you wait.
You drink wine and talk,
talk, talk, talk.
You talk a lot.
You talk about the high price
of fuel and of groceries,
how busy you are and what
you would do if you weren't...
busy, that is.
But you really want to talk about
Tolstoy, and things we never say,
things we pretend not to notice,
and how you think God isn't
quite so trivial as we make him out to be.
And you want to scream.
You want to see the end times,
would relish a real challenge,
and you want to dance.
You never dance.
Never have.
You pace back and forth at night,
like a cat in a cage, and feel important.
Like you mean something.
You don't.
You live in a circle.
And you wait.
You wait for the next bad thing,
the next emotional tsunami,
the next thing that makes you feel alive.
In the meantime, you Google
and search for coupons,
and smile and wave, boys.
Just smile and wave.
And you know He's there,
somewhere, just out of reach,
so you cling to what is here,
to what you can lay hands on.
You cling.
You cling.
One Stop Poetry, recent winner at the 3rd Annual Shorty Awards, has a great Sunday challenge and this is my contribution. Go and read!
