I had a lull - figure I should tweak when I could, in
case I don't get a lunch break. :(
------------
Letter of Resignation
I.
Effective (for once)
immediately (finally), I quit
I'm done
gone
my glass is full
and must be emptied.
Seemingly bottomless,
it collected rainwater tears
spilled ballgame beers
and an encyclopaedia of other substances
I wouldn't care to name.
What was I thinking
when I dove
legs tight together like
Daddy said
arms a Pontiff's Mitre
so willingly
into this oubliette?
I'd like to say, righteously wounded
"I was misled"
like Private Benjamin
I got off the bus only to find
that there weren't any beachfront condos
and sailboats
But no one recruited me
this I chose
so unbelievable
I know
who'd'a thunk it?
But doesn't it all seem
so perfect to everyone else
I tell them "it's a buncha crap"
and they SMILE, the bastards
a visual "awwww" and
pat on the head
"She isn't potty-trained yet?"
their sandblast-shiny teeth
seem to say.
And so I quit
wash my hands and face
without consulting anyone.
I'm on a plane, window seat
on the wing,
Everything else is below
and behind
What I want is beyond
and that's what my ticket says
I'm on the plane to Beyond
too excited to sleep.
II.
Life is short life
is long life
is everything so
why don't you tend it
find out what It needs?
Instead you sit contentedly
blind happy in your misery
Why? And you want me to do the same.
Instead I say "Fuck That."
Why?
Because Life is too short
to waste and too long
to spend unhappily, miserably or simply
pleasant-boringly
ennui collectors filling
with paper-work and kilobytes
in daylong portions
stuffed and swallowed
you grow fat, complacent
telling me wild tales
of battles won and lost.
It's all a buncha crap,
I say again. It's the mantra
that gets you out of bed and
into your car,
but it's empty and starving
for lifelong weekends.
Most importantly,
it isn't mine.
I chose the oubliette and
seeing you, living you
I unchoose I leave
I scale out hand
over hand feet sticky with
magic fly-feet wall-climbing glue
And I make it to the top
the trip, in actuality, much easier
than I imagined it sitting
in my office
at the bottom
under the lid that swallowed
the light.
III.
As I write this letter,
I am on that plane I told you about.
Well, not exactly. Turns out,
there is no such place as Beyond
at least, not a place that is accessible by plane.
So, I had to give it a name,
and in my window-seat on the wing
I hear the pilot announce
before the flight attendants'
mime routine
That we are headed to
Austin, Texas
where the sun is a big fried-egg
on a blue plate
and my friends
wait for me.
Here's me and Jen dishing on my latest theory (the 'decorating the
trailer to look like a harem' was fun, but I think this one might be
closer to 'truth')
ME:
Anyhoo...did you get my latest theory on SIL's purchases? I wonder -
why- she wants to dress her horsie up and gallop around in bedouin
clothing...as far as I know, her horse does not do dressage, and SIL
is not a good enough rider to go into competition....so why waste all
that $ and freak your horse out for nothing?
JEN:
Yeah, I did see that. Beats me. I agree with ya. As
I understand it, most people who do dressage are a bit
classier and thinner than A. She would just be
setting herself up for mortification.
Which, actually, might be rather fun to witness.
ME:
I should check with the Expo Center to find out when the next Arabian
event is and see if she registers and/or shows up. nah...nevermind.
Sounds like too much work.
Cant' wait to see your new poem. :)
It's lunchtime for me. I think I will hit the library.
548 hobbies for yahoo profile
whenever I decide to get it back to normal:
Amusement parks, beads, camping, the 80's, gardening, gems,
meadmaking, nature, Pilates, reading, renaissance faires,
silkpainting, skating, soapmaking, stained glass, TX wine, travel,
writing, Yoga
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