Small Talk

  

Small talk

Spread by pesky flies

Hovering around my dinner table.

Swarming as they briefly land

On my arms and face and gravy.

It’s such a pesky chore 

To keep the swarm at bay.

You think you have control 

But somehow they slip away

to buzz into your tired brain,

With nothing much to say.

Their numbing tedium

drives me frantically insane.

So they can have the feast 

and eat the meat

And all the mashed potatoes,

and spread their foul contagion

the width and breadth of our fruited nation.

I’m headed to the beach

Or Atlantic frozen glacier.

One must secure escape

From these boring conversations.

Thoughts on innocence…

  
One of the cruelest ways we deprive ourselves is when we ruthlessly extract the extraordinary from the world spinning around us to replace it with expectations of the predictable, the common, the cynically hopeless, the “ordinary.” How tragic the way we digest and distribute these blind, self-deceptive lies, with the cool aplomb of cult followers dispersing religious tracts at a crowded airport. To Maintain, with reverence and joy, that childlike wonder, that enchantment with everyday things, everyday experiences, the “ordinary”–that is the most precious gift offered by the Goddess, and one, as we “mature,” appear most reluctant to receive. I suggest we accept this gift, embrace it and hold it dear.