I’m Very Philosophical
Carcinogens and microplastics permeate the air.
They infiltrate my bloodstream like a cutpurse at a fair.
But though some ire’s surely valid
at this airborne toxic salad,
what’s the use in fruitless chafing
at the unabating strafing?
Can’t give air the old Dear John,
and so I simply soldier on.
Who says life is fair?
I pay my taxes faithfully, full knowing what they’re for:
A millionth part for schools and art; the rest for waging war.
Pacifistically inclined,
I seek what’s best for humankind,
thus underwriting mass destruction
undermines a prime instruction.
But do I burn with discontent?
No! Take the blows like wet cement!
You see, I’m philosophical,
serene and un-set-off-able,
eschewing volatility,
I’m proud of my stability;
monks covet my tranquility;
I’m patient to the core.
Algorithms mine my data; privacy is dead.
I meditate on unjust fate instead of seeing red.
If God himself appeared before me, sneer upon his face,
and cursed my lot to wilt and rot, I’d bear my share with grace.
But lo! An airline service rep confronts me with malfeasance;
insults me with effrontery, while playing at obeisance;
Refutes the irrefutable,
denies the indisputable,
implies my suit’s unsuitable
should well be prosecutable!
O, chutzpah incomputable!
But do I peacefully abide?
Take this slightest slight in stride?
Do I defer to reason?
Of course I don’t! I snort and froth!
Robustly piqued and justly wroth!
Yes, fit to spit the blackest blood—
A stream! A wave! A tide! A flood!
Rage to boil Goliath’s bath
with glowing orange aftermath!
Annihilating,
smile-hating
Overheating,
unretreating,
fuming, dooming,
all-consuming,
baleful,
nail-full
gail-full
hail-full
blinding
grinding
quaking
shaking
choking
smoking
WRATH!
I face the direr challenges as coolly as the Buddha.
The trifles: barracuda.
Treasured Pleasures
A thing I’ve found out through much glut and temptation:
Most pleasures are better when in moderation.
A beer can be dandy; a six-pack’s too much;
teen boys on the Web wind up raw to the touch.
A two-room exhibit goes down like moscato,
but few can keep keen all day long at the Prado.
I find bingeing TV shows more numbing than kingly;
I’d much rather savor each episode singly.
The music that played as a I walked down the aisle:
too precious to hear more than once in a while.
But there’s one treasured pleasure I’ll never rebuff,
where I need no restraint, and it’s never enough;
gulp it down like fresh rainwater after a drought,
and never once fret the delight will wear out.
With every indulgence, the raptures renew.
Have you figured it out? It’s you.