Do you remember or you forgot?

It’s on your mind, oh there’s a lot.

You be real or you a bot?

There’s a point to what you brought.

You be wise? But you not knows.

You tries to bury all those woes.

Said goodbyes and no moss grows.

You paint lies and that crack shows.

Do you recall or you forgot?

It’s on your mind, oh there’s a lot.

You still feel? What your gold bought?

There’s the point and there is not.

You stare far now with those eyes.

Tongue all swollen- double size.

You still hear? Yes those good byes.

You see smiling cause that truth rise.

You take your aim. You fire that shot.

You pick your pain and that’s a lot.

You lost it all and why you fought?

You be real or you be bot?

You be human or you be bought.

I remember those moments of Confusion. When someone would say after not seeing me for some time, years or more… saying: ‘You haven’t changed.You’re still the same.’

Later I read a quote where the author stated his shame when he figured out that the world was a costume party and he had worn his real face.

That’s when the “Penny Dropped. “

How rare are we? The Maskless.

Do the others know?

Them that are aware; do they feel shame like Kafka?

Or are they proud of it like me?

So many questions…

The bad luck raised suspicions, on a path that was beat down.

No one dared to look within or see the wise men in the town.

It was happening for eons, as long as Grandad could recall.

Like a dark foreboding plank walk or a dream in which you fall.

Until the child spoke her words that, “Maybe somethings wrong with me?”

So we made a meeting with the Doc, down at Family Psychiatry.

The doctor raised awareness and we all took a look.

Things are looking so good now, might take Grandma off the hook.

Now life is far from perfect however the family’s not so sad.

Looking in the mirror, not blaming blind luck, good or bad.

She said,

“Not dead, but I suffered trauma.”

I said.

“Oh I’m sure it was your crazy momma.”

She said,

“You might be right I thinks a bit.

Might take some time to get over it.”

I said.

“You never know where this all goes.”

She said.

“In my dreams they be screams and shit.

Just keep it real it’s all I knows.”

My mother was Protestant and my father was Catholic. I grew up with Anglicans and Baptists in a small east coast farming community.

I state this because despite these people’s obvious flaws and drawbacks… they  were generally speaking a hard working lot.

If one were prone to being lazy, you could expect to be pissed on from great heights for such a crime.

I met my Grandfather Patrick when I was 18 and he was 92. He said of my father who I had not met.

“Your father thinks the world owes him a living.”

My father stopped working the year I was born and essentially became a bum.

Considering my surroundings and youth it should come as no surprise that I judged this character flaw with disdain.

However upon reflection and observations of the current culture, I am beginning to think that the ‘old man’ was Ahead of the Curve.

First work week in October.

Morning air is cold not cool.

I hear their fears and superstitions.

Misinformation of the fool.

Xenophobic is the costume.

And not just Halloween.

So angry at something somewhere.

Such rage is heard and seen.

The immigrants are all working.

Not much more than minimum wage.

Beady eyes they ask for spare change.

And complaining is all the rage.

I tried the “Who Cares” mantra for a day and found out I care. It didn’t come as much of a surprise really however what did come as a surprise was that acceptance of both apologies I needed to offer up today.

When you are wrong…

Promptly admit it!

I tried to be supportive.

You taught me with your shares…

All good will is now abortive.

With your brilliant ask, “Who Cares?”

I could have been the nice one.

Cost was nothing. No bill or fares.

Just tell me how you’re feeling.

My response is yours. “Who Cares?:

The toast was not burnt I swear.

The cream was fresh and chilled.

The rosè was a vintage fine.

And no goblets were broke or spilled.

Somehow I just woke grumpy.

From my king size goose down bed.

I probably owe apologies.

For something or other I said.

Sometimes there’s no reason.

For my less than kind retorts.

It doesn’t mean that I don’t love or care.

It just means I’m out of sorts.