OVERLOAD
My very dawning mind calls morning its
ally - a friend to be had in time of need.
Standing erect, the old dogs of war find
their palaver in a puddle of blood. A car
door zings shut; that old lurching noise
of a door slammed in anger. The man is
seen beating on the hood of his car. His
fury seems to know no end. There is a
woman in that car, watching, and frozen
in fear. I just know this must all be about
her. I wish I could help, someone, her, him.
It's not my battle, and, anyway, no one will
win. Why should this be any different
from anything else? I too am overloaded
with human emotion.
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