GETTING TOO TIRED TO SCARE
Most of the time nothing happens...and
most certainly nothing happens twice.
You'd think. But it's not like that at all.
The old routine spins itself over and
over, with one thing replacing another
but they're really all the same.
-
Not a ghost of a chance of escaping. The
willow tree acts as a border to other lands
I'd never reach. Electric chairs are out in
the meadow, and two boats, capsized just
yesterday, have never returned their dead.
-
Purple mountains majesty? Yeah maybe.
But the guy from Jersey with the weekly
gray truck, he only shows up on weekends
to make his mess. In August he dug himself
a pond - backhoe and shovel and a dumper
of dirt.
-
Why anyone would do that baffles me. Who
needs a personal pond around here? There's
one every half mile, and ten times and more
as large as the pity-hole he's dug. I say it's
some sort of 'statement' or making a claim
to his own real ownership of 'this'. Placing
the flag, like Ponce DeLeon and making the
new claim for the Queen and King at home.
-
My last ten days have been awful, and I'm
even too tired to scare.
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