Awful, like a tattered rag
Like nails on a chalkboard among a roomful of students trying to read
Like the useless arrangement of dead flowers
One thought infects her worn brain
Nothing poetic do I attest
Just simply a loss of rest
By the dilapidated words that ooze from her mouth like a volcano that erupted last week
Prairie fires have been less destructive
Than the negativity that mirrors my work
Six years is a long time to take the abuse
But my God!
She chose to remain guarding her burned trashcan
I wish she would have that cigarette for lunch
For then a modicum of joy might pervade her warped view
Just taking it in the form of cancer would be better than the cancer her mind has become
Work all the day while
Mind has swam at least for a mile
The rooster crowed, the dog let out
The drive to work coupled by coffee stout
“Coming around the corner!”
The chain of flow broken like the lace of my favorite shoe
So abrasive, like a bridezilla sanding something borrowed
The day’s thoughts turn to pudding, desperate for a rope
I shall continue to cope
For six years she suffered
(Probably raised to complain from the cradle,
Her parade of horribles after winning the lottery would make Macy’s look like used floss)
And damnit, she IS right
God knows I’ve suffered, too
But when does it end?!
When will she learn?
She tries to train the old dog to perform new tricks
She should be training herself
My work suffers blows
My attitude hardens like a wart
Time to release the woes
To my inner march I must comport
