Stoic
He fancied himself as “stoic.” Alone in the darkness, silently sucking a briar pipe, he watches snow swirl under the street lights. Nothing can touch him now, and if it does, one would never be the wiser.
This resolve had only come about in the last year or so. Prior to that, he would complain about life’s hardships to anyone who would listen. The injustice of maturity and all the aches and pains that accompany it.
Years of working for the man who stopped caring once production slowed had left him bent and twisted. Now, he shuffles his way to the bathroom in the middle of the night, hoping he makes it in time. Assuming he does, like today, the ritual of the pipe follows.
As always, during quiet times like this, his eyes fall upon the image of the only woman he had ever loved. She had been there through it all. Never wavered in her conviction, no matter how bad things got. This year will mark six years since she was ripped away by that horrible disease. Time meant nothing though as his rage continued to glow like the tobacco in the bowl.
His son, now grown with a family of his own, stopped communicating with him after their last fight, nearly two years ago. Sometimes, the old man considers apologizing, the kids are growing up so fast but then the familiar indignation sets in and the calls are never placed.
His friends are all gone, either dead or wishing they were as they rotted away in a home. This was the reason for their fight. It was suggested that maybe it would be better for all if he were to move to an assisted living facility. Every time he thought back to that conversation he became angry again. They didn’t care about him, they just wanted the house and the property that went with it.
The house and what few belongings he had in it were all that was left. A musty reminder of a life that could have been wonderful yet never achieved. A lifetime of excuses and accusations, when smiles were few and the stress neverending.
He used to drink. Justifiably so, in his solitary opinion and this was the catalyst for many disappointments. Drinking allowed him to complain with impunity, so he did, and he became quite proficient at both. Ironically, it took the passing of his sweetheart to make him quit.
His new-found sobriety did nothing to change his pessimism, however. He was still bitter and his constant complaining was an irritant to all within earshot. His sponsor informed him he was a “dry drunk.” His response…” Fuck off!” and they never saw each other again. Looking back, the guy was probably the most honest friend he ever had.
Within the last year, however, a distinct change had enveloped him. A resolve to quietly endure… to accept his fate without the all-too-familiar grumblings. Never again would he allow the world to see his pain and frustration. No one will hear his fear. He will remain stoic until the bitter end. Because in the end...nobody really cares.
The first rays of the morning sun startle the lingering chrystals in the sky. His pipe, extinguished for the last time, falls to the floor.
Judging by the Rear View Mirror
I got so used to the shit
I didn't mind the smell
when black days turn to years
and there's no one left to tell
most have run away
some of them died
fire that thing up
it's getting cold outside
momma's tears and prayers
kiss the back of daddy's hand
the gate slams shut
again and again
only a few will understand
now I read in reverse
through the saga that I wrote
the fuck ups
and disappointment
the blood stained
suicide note
I got so good at taking
I forgot how to give
I was so busy dying
I never learned how to live
I Know the Dark
I know the dark
’cause I’ve spent a lot of time there
listening to the murmurs
of the old me
remembering things
when I pretended to care
I don’t need light to see
to cast doubtful shadows
of uncertainty
I know the dark
I know the dark
slide on over
there’s enough room for two
in this room with no view
I’ve seen the things that you do
it doesn’t bother me
I’ve done them too
I know the dark
the promises made
in a constant charade
with motives hidden in lies
deceit
defeat
delete
repeat
all there when you close your eyes
I know the dark
I know the dark
A.P.B.T.
She don’t ask for much
’cause she always gets what she needs
Kind words, a smile, and a gentle touch
she’s gonna crush the negativity
Ignorant fingers point in her direction
don’t believe the hype you read
She’s not here because I need protection
she’s by my side because I love the breed
Before you judge us as something to avoid
and nervously cross the street
Make an effort to get to know us
you’ll soon find out she’s loving and sweet
She’s looking at me now with love in her eyes
already too big to safely carry her
I’ve got her back and she’s got mine
my Mona Lucy
An American Pitbull Terrier
Offensive Play
The snowflake landed on her nose. All I wanted to do at that point was laugh and take a picture. Apparently, the sight of a red MAGA hat triggered her and she started screaming how offended she was and “Trump’s not my president!”
Well, she started jumping up and down, getting more hysterical by the second, her cheap makeup starting to smear from an exaggerated crocodile tear. Someone behind her suggested that we build a wall and she whirled around, furiously accusing him of grabbing her by the pussy.
It was at this point that people began recording her antics on their phones. Unfortunately, I had forgotten mine in the truck. I was taking pictures of the bump stock on my AR-15 “assault rifle” when I realized the battery needed to be charged and it was still plugged in.
The salty tears of socialism had begun to puddle at her feet and she slipped and bounced her face off the tiles. Honestly, my first reaction was to help her up but then I realized the “she” was a “he” so I stepped over “it” to place my order of bacon to go.
Have Some More
Don’t hand me that crap
about old Jack Sprat
and his big fat wife
smeared in vaseline
The dishes get done
that’s all well and good
but what about the lines running in between?
He might be smothered in love
but when push comes to shove
where’s a stairwell when you need it?
Why bother to work
and bring home the bacon
when you know you’re not going to eat it?
So he sits in silence...
while she’s smackin’ her lips
with grease running down her three chins
"Not much longer" he hopes
her heart will explode
and that’s when Jack’s story begins!
