Poetry

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A BAD DAY

One morning I woke up and turned on my TV, started a pot of coffee, lit a cigarette and that’s when it hit me.... Falluja fighting so fierce that I’m used to it! Jacko’s folks all say he is innocent. “Until he’s proven guilty.”, I think. Then the stink of Iraqi captives pictures, and the anger for a friend, brother, or mother’s son lost in the madness. There was a pedophile round-up in Texas. I guess it’s as good as place as any. And, what ever happened to Saddam Hussein? I cry out, “The world has gone insane, …again!” In God We Trust on our money, but not in our priests. No prayers, or pledge of allegiance. Plenty of devastation. Every sort of negative information spewing out and all over me from the bowels of my TV.

So I turned it off. But I cant’ seem to turn it down, sounds like screaming in my ears.
Many fears like demons dancing, hanging from shreds of hope…. So I arrived to work a little late then was berated by a man who holds me deep in disregard. He demands respect but never gives any, co-workers smirk and talk behind my back
waiting their turn to step up to step on my emotions. But I clench my teeth, Grin and bear it, keeps my nose to the grindstone earning only half of what I’m worth.

8-10-12 hours pass then I’m free at last to get in my car and drive through never ending construction where my taxes go, horns blow – and the finger of some insane rage flipped in my face like some death sentence passed. And the waiter made me wait to long, then the girl at the grocery counter talked on the phone as if I wasn’t there. So I spoke up, “Hey what about me?” “What about you?”, she replied rudely.

So I just left my groceries sitting there on the belt, walked out the door, forgot my car and wandered off into the woods behind the store. The dark, the night, like stumbling through my tangled life looking for a place to rest my spirit by the river. Then I heard the water gently flowing like the tears streaming down my face. I cried out to God, “Why? Why are these days so hard on me?” Then like a whisper in the breeze I heard a voice tell me, “My son, tomorrow when you wake up, don’t turn on the TV.”

Copyright ©Ron Brady 2004

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