Pain Calls in Sick

The coalition of body aches and pains, including twitches, pangs, jabs, throbs, stabs, burns, tingles, numbing and cramps, has posted a notice on its web page stating that something is going around the office there, and that the elements of discomfort are themselves not feeling well. Some sort of virus, is the official word. It's hitting hard. "Yes, even pain itself is not immune to a nasty flu," the statement reads. The coalition asks our patience as its agents of bodily harm recover. "Surely, our usual customers can understand how we are feeling right now."

Indeed we do. Take your time. Don't hurry back.

Kibble

There are so many books
sitting up beside my bed
you should see the looks
I get before they're fed

The Mind's Eye

My brain twisted a word in a Washington Post headline today. For a split second I thought it read:

"After Rapture, Road Still Closed"

Ah, well, as long as there are alternate routes.

Enforcer

As I pry hard at
the stick pin lying
flat on the bathroom floor
in the space between

somehow there is always
space between

Sir Isaac Newton
pulls back mightily
the sumbitch –
doesn't he ever quit?

I dream of an oar

"My poetry costs me endless
labor. I sit down to it...like the
galley-slave to his oar."

- William Butler Yeats

Stop and smell the roses in ten easy steps

1. Do your research. Get to know roses. Where do they grow? What do they look like? Why should you care? Learn to recognize a rose as opposed to, say, a thistle, from ten paces away.

2. Clear your schedule. Dedicate at least half the day.

3. Wear appropriate shoes. Landscape can be tricky, especially for those unaccustomed to being out-of-doors.

4. Bees! Don't forget the EpiPen.

5. Hang up and turn off your cell phone. Yes, really!

6. Clear your head of all extraneous thoughts, except the one about where you parked.

7. Obtain all necessary permissions, pay entrance fees and visit the rest room one last time.

8. Single out a rose that you find attractive. Lean in and put your nose close to the soft, colorful pedals. Caution: Avoid the thorns. They are not fragrant, and will slice your nostril right open. (But, of course, you'll know this if you do your research. See step 1.)

9. Inhale deeply, trying not to cough, sneeze or lose your balance.

10. Equate the pleasant aroma with joie de vivre, the joy of living. Hold that thought. Hold it longer. Done.

That place you go

We meet in the dingy office kitchenette
At the ergonomic center of cubie-land.
Pouring a coffee from the communal pot
You ask me how I'm doing.
Terrible, I answer.
This stops you in your tracks.
It's not the answer you expect.
Fine, OK, not too shabby,
Maybe a shoulder shrug, a grunt—
But terrible?
Yes, terrible, I hold firm.
Your hands fidget around your cup,
Not sure what to say next,
Or if you want to speak at all.
No worries, I'll talk.

I begin to tell you my tale of woe:
Too much, too little time;
Unfair expectations, rampant stupidity.
Your eyes begin to darken.
Layer upon layer of detail
I weave so that you might understand.
But you have gone someplace else.
I can see straight through your pupils
To a dark wall at the edge of your being.
Rods and cones are moving about
Like a miniature inflatable bounce ride
At the fair.
Then I see you in there, too,
Floating, bouncing, laughing.

Seems like I could shout
Or snap my fingers—
Bring you crashing back—
But you seem so damn happy
In that place you go.
So I continue with my ranting,
Tell you about yesterday's meeting
That went on for hours
Led by that idiot in finance
All the while looking deep into your eyes
As you do one somersault after another
Gliding in slow motion up, up, up...
—HEY!—
Are you waving to me?
From in there?
I think you are;
I think you see me.
That's very rude.