They are the highway betta fish
angry – ready to fight
acting on a baffling death wish
looking to find a bite
outrage is a mirror to fear
but what is there to dread?
perpetual thoughts prompt a sneer
on these lawless hotheads
they won’t stop, those rude road ragers
they’re projecting their mood
when there’s no need to brood
their perspective is skewed
My mane is a primitive vine –
A blind communique –
I’m too lazy to make it shine –
with pomades or hairspray –
Tie it with an elastic band?
Or tame it with some heat?
Some say pin them down – every strand!
But that looks way too neat –
I shall remain a loose bun lass.
I even favor plaits –
to styles of some imagined class.
For vines don’t fit a vase.
They come in all sizes and shapes,
from lands near and far,
their parenting styles differ greatly,
but all hold the same love in their hearts
Happy Father’s Day!
Desert in the summer
means walking the dog at sunrise
rabbits chew and quail run
We cast small shadows
the spaces between needles of the cactus
are the gaps between my thoughts
I strive to be as constant as the sun
but sometimes I am the tide
at the whim of sun and moon
at the mercy of yoga and whiskey
straddling love and fear
No longer mine – can’t carry you anymore,
you’ll stumble, fall and eventually – soar,
As your path widens and grows long,
I realize how I was so very wrong
You take your steps while I watch
Your self-determination can be dreadful
yet entirely convincing
It’s fast becoming apparent
that your flubs and whims aren’t errant
You don’t own reasons for my heart breakin’
for I never “owned” you, in that, I was mistaken