There are days
(We all have our days)
where this crazy,
cock-a-Mamie world comes
down hard, and every card
in your hand has a joker head
instead of the aces it replaces.
A quick shuffle and a stir
of the pot and you’ve got a mess,
you’d guess you could be strong
but you’d be wrong. The lid
is clamped down hard on you
and stew would require less
pressure than you’ve been under.
You wonder if this stress
is in your best interest
and you guess it’s best to
let off some steam. You could
scream and shout and let it out,
but all that comes is that incessant
whistle. Going off like a missile,
you blow the top off. Others may scoff,
but simmering in your own juice
is akin to self-abuse. Can you
smell what I’ve been cooking?

© Copyright 2014 – Walter J Wojtanik



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