That’s what I’d like to pen
a lively literate alliteration of the current situation, an artful arrangement of insults carefully crafted curses silky as Shakespearean sleeves and sharp Barded barbs beaded between banter laid like lane lines restriping our route on the interstate to the unthinkable. To protect my fellow citizens I turn to traffic engineer tendering flashing neon arrows and orange cones. I litter the landscape with impact attenuators and Do Not Enter spikes designed to puncture all the hot air from the pompous windbag hovering vulture-like over my country delivering a daily deluge of blowhard barrage, threatening to flatten us like road-kill devour us like carrion. All around the prophets intone and we must atone, retreat, repent, reverse our trajectory at warp speed and flap furiously away from the furnace like the proverbial bats out of hell. Contrary to popular opinion, ostriches do not bury their heads in the sand, they dig instead safe nests for their offspring. And likewise, echolocation does not simply serve to avoid obstacles but penetrates our very bodies with waves that vibrate the truth not in our ears, but straight through our jaws We teeter on the liminal edge of has been and yet to come our ballast and balance nothing more than a ballot and a ballpoint pen poised to close the chasm the pen’s nib its spider thread of thin black ink becomes the tightrope on which we will step boldly, I hope, boldy I pray into our future
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I began blogging about "This or Something Better" in 2011 when my husband and I were discerning what came next in our lives, which turned out to be relocating to Puget Sound from our Native California. My older posts can be found here.
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