I can’t help you. My colleagues can’t help you. Have you tried city hall? There is no parking. All the best! Have a nice day.

The geese take flight.

The leaves are falling.

All greys golden brittle brown.

Cold days like night.

My engine’s stalling.

Don’t dare take your love to town.

The saying is between ancient and old…

The word flog one seldom hears anymore.

Yet despite our education system being broken, we keep pretending it’s not and flogging that dead horse. We continue spiraling downwards…

In Japan  they don’t test their students until the age of 10. Previous to this, they teach character and manners…

I’ll just leave this here.

I am not changing.

This is who I am.

I lack patience and tolerance.

I do not suffer Fools.

The older I get, the more I desire solitude.

---

I walk to the coffee shop under the darkness of a sky, getting lighter to show the sad expressions of the downtrodden bums seeking change and sustenance,  and still, I complain about the less than perfect world.

Later, with coffee in hand my voice mumbles some destain about some perceived injustice or complaint about something and the mentality ill women with the the incredibly bad haircut  yells at me to “fuck off” from across the street and I return the greeting and then in the early morning light the absurdity of it all hits me…

I have little to complain about. I should just shut the fuck up and enjoy the ride! Yeah, like that’s going to happen.

Like the rest of humanity, I like complaining.

There is no right choice.

No matter which way you go…

Shite.

Once you understand that, then maybe you can choose with more silence.

Once you escape.

Create a safe distance.

Enter therapy!

Heal…

And try again.

If fortune shines your way.

You find someone who is kind and loving. 

Only then  will you realize that a younger version of you made that choice.

The Ancients started singing.

In an unfamiliar key.

The Stoners started dancing.

And staring at just me.

The Republicans they were drowning.

Outside the Democratic waves.

The Angel’s started humming.

Just some notes from Jesus’ saves.

A voice spoke said, “You’re dreaming.”

I screamed, “Please go away.”

They kept shaking in the evening.

Through the night and brand new day.

Now, the Ancients are together.

They are smiling like they knew.

Like they’ve known about forever.

And a different shade of blue.

They spoke, “Just keep on going.”

And I drifted deep in song.

Until I woke to someone crying.

I guess I had been away too long.

A rich man drives a taxi.

A poor man drives a Ford.

But my old man

Goes down the street

With four wheels on a board.

MARGARET MANTIN