All the whys & wherefores are hackneyed,
the reasons all gone stale. Today
I’m just glad to have a life; my scalp takes on the pinkish sheen
indicative of such good fortune. Existence, friends, is hair-raising.
A base hit gets you to first but I’m greedy;
I’m swinging for the fences every time, imagining
the cheers when I come home. The umpire clears his throat
& yells “Safe!” We can try to hold the slippery
fabric of this exquisite world but that earthy satin
is not meant for the timid to caress
between their chapped fingers. I’d like to take the wheel,
grab the proverbial bull by his horns & wrestle him to the ground
& when my shrink says I see I’ll give him such a pinch
he’ll learn quick not to mess with a matador.
He’ll learn to let me fight the knockdown, drag-out brawls
I pick with myself all by myself.