Twice Shy

Oh, the hours I’ve wasted, distressed from the transpirations of the past three years. And only now do I realize, at 6:46pm on a Friday night, that this attractive writer is dressed in her pajamas and ready to go to bed.


How weary the body becomes after all this time: the pain and exhaustion of scrutinizing a venomous wound that has long since healed; the puzzle of the mood of the snake – whether the fangs will be hidden or exposed at the next meeting; and how the wounded will walk again after the onslaught of insults and negativity.

Why bother?

Is this longing for a beer with friends a comfort or an ache? Is this longing for companionship real or just a cruel joke? The knob to turn off the risk and the pain has broken in my hands. That poisonous snake is hiding somewhere….

So why bother?

The quiet moments when the soul is alive,
when the voices inside are comforting,
when the solitude of being a part of something bigger erases the pain of living – those are the moments I should concentrate on.

In the green fluidity of the leaves on the trees –
from the distant bird song and the pleasant screams
of neighbors playing in the pool.
I must become enchanted.

The seriousness of life shall never stop
with its incessant hammering.
Only a fool would listen.

I am a fool.