...while you were sleeping.

"Shuttlecock"; "Raincheck":
These are words I don't understand.
Like when you ask someone
middle-aged or older
their telephone number and they look
you square in the eye, foolishly unashamed
and say "I don't know
it, I never call myself."
Well, maybe no one else should be calling
you, either, pal.
Nero played that fiddle beautifully as Rome burned
but I doubt a person such as yourself could
make ignorance nearly as tasteful.

And girth, can we talk about girth for a moment?
The blessing, the curse, the verdict is in
and the Feel Good Revolution
just got a little hindered by diameter.
Their mothers must tell them to say that
to all the boys, though it's a kind strategy.
Butt it sure is pleasant to think up names
when my mind wanders at work.

The irony of the lousy job I'm on right now
is that it's one giant mud pit.
Sometimes I sink halfway up to my shins
as I trudge along from building to building
trying my best to roll with those right hooks.
I related this woe to a friend the other day
and she said she didn't pity me, she'd love
to play in the mud. That's fine and good, but
I'm sure there are also a lot of perverts who'd swear
they'd love to be gynecologists until the day
they'd actually have to stare up those for eight hours.
When the analogy went unanswered I considered
the Realist the victor and flicked the butt
out the window of my car at a garden
triumphantly.

Though I'm not always such a crabapple.
Yesterday driving home I saw a turtle in its shell
in the middle of my lane. My first reaction was
to stop, but the rush hour traffic suggested otherwise.
When I stopped with a passenger last summer
she jumped out and saved it in time. A few months later
when I saw another one and didn't stop since
I was with a coworker and too embarrassed
I saw its smashed shell upon returning.
The law of averages told me what would happen to
yesterday's jay-walker if I didn't stop again, but I couldn't
bring myself to turn around and do it with all those
damn cars. Me of all people should've been able to relate
being the recluse that I've become hiding in this
shell made of bottles and bookshelves, but pride wound up
costing that turtle his life, too.
Or maybe that one made it.
It's not enough to lose sleep over
but it still irks me to know
that I'll never know.

At least there's one thing I'm sure of now:
Wednesday, April 30th, 2008.