Worrying, deepening wrinkles,
crows feet at my edges of time
cut deeper from winds & storms
into a well worn wall, adobe thick,
mud proofed in the sun
of my distresses.
Storms, find me fretting
over uselessness. Silverware,
china patterns, the right gauge
shot gun, sofa colors & styles,
impenetrable impeccable prayers,
correctly folded towels, right answers
dishes in the dishwasher stacked
in strictest order.
Ah, lost cause self-flagellating
perfectionist, seeking shelter between
idiot temples of ridiculous donkeys
believing themselves to be storming gods.
One – Rightness, the other – Correctness.
With their stomping thunder clap hoofs
and lightning they strike at my feet and eyes,
blinding me and forcing me to jittery dance
between their stubborn hatefulness.
© SB Joy, 2021