After the Mad Dog Seven

Intermittent fasting,
Taking leave of gluttony, but
This morning’s run
Sucked all my commitment away.
The doldrums set in,
The malaise took effect,
Finally, I could stand it no more.
Two donuts broke my fast,
Momentarily, I felt better.
Now I’m wanting more.

27-166

A blue balloon
Clipped to a black hoody
Trailing a slow running 9th grader
Teased a reticent runner
Into following along.
He took jabs and cross hooks
At the dancing balloon
Which slipped the punches
With a knuckleball bob and weave.
The round didn’t last three minutes
As the pugilistic player
Had not a puncher’s chance
And he got lost in the weight
Of oxygen debt,
Personal doubt, and
The realization of Rendell’s commentary
On the state of toughness
Seeping from our society.
Walking became his Rope-a-Dope,
Gasping for breath his Tyson mouthpiece moment,
And as a side stitch set into spasm
The young fighter, once barely a runner,
Showed the glass jaw quality of his meager endurance.

Ding. Ding.

39-166

I guess a throat punch would be excessive,
I’d hate to waste my waning years in some prison
Because of your scrawny little neck.

How it holds up your ego
I’m not sure,
But I’m fairly certain if you had a heart
You’d be crying now.

You have gone past the point
That even your overly narcissistic ego
Should have known to be beyond the outer limits.

As an educator, you are supposed to be compassionate,
True to form, though, your soul showed its depths
To be much less than even a tear,
It hurts to think you care more about your teachers than your children.

Who are you to decide the statute of limitations
On grief and forgiveness?
You are nobody.

And you show it time and time again
Basking in the holier than thou existence
That seems all friendly,
But I know your true nature.

That one an educator, and yes, a mother
Should not have. That one where
Attacking comes as your normal way.

You show yourself with a sharp stare, eyes cutting,
You announce yourself with an evil tongue, no one is as good as you,
You parade in a cloak of self-deprecation, the truest of your phony elements, for
You are a charade, the worst kind of leader, backstabbing and almighty.

I am fortunate, I can keep you afar,
Too bad our children have not made their escape yet,
They always have refuge here.

Which is exactly what you fear,
For all of these years in my house, where the anger originated,
We have been working on letting everyone heal,
Taking our time, respecting everyone’s timeline.

And in one conversation,
You blew up a relationship by going Trump and
Stirring up emotions fully meant to scare one person to your side.

I’m flawed and I have always hoped that things might turn around,
But you and your two-legged dog on a leash
Have ended all chances of us being cordial
For I will not bend down to your self-serving whims. Neither should the kids.

Please allow them to be grown-ups,
They are adults who have matured in ways that you refuse to consider,
Creative, passionate, forgiving, flexible, and not tied to your scaredy-cat life.

Maybe you should take stock in the past,
Understanding your sinister, manipulative, and full-fledged Iago power play,
You thought you had what you wanted,
My guess is your little throat won’t be able to swallow the load that’s coming.

A Conversation Between High School Girls (not that gender is important to the dialogue)

1. Hey girl, I applied to the university.

2. Me too, the honors program.

1. Really… Isn’t that a bunch of nerds?

2. Yeah.

1. We should room together!!!

2. Yeah, I’m requesting the honors dorm!!!

1. With the nerds? Why would you do that?

2. So I can get my homework done.

1. Uh, no, eff that.