My mind is turning derelict. It often wanders on. While I am still in need of it, I discover that it’s gone. My thought processes aren’t uniform. They come and go at random. Will and concentration no longer come in tandem. It never ceases fascinating me that what was once a certified ace student has turned into a dunce. I know it is the fault of age and yet I often ponder about this vagary of mind that sends it over yonder when I have need of it at home. I find it most distressing when common words are wanted, that my mind now leaves me guessing.
I should have balked when I saw that the manicurist had put crown of thorns blossoms into the soak water for my manicure, but instead I decided she must know what she was doing. Yes, I let her soak my hands and only when I got home and developed the sores on my hand that still haven’t healed weeks later, did I make use of Google to reaffirm what I already knew—that crown of thorns sap is poisonous and possibly lethal when ingested by animals, caustic to eyes and skin. I’m sure she just added it because it was pretty, but its effects are not.
Rumors are abroad that you don’t know how to act. You like to dig the needle in and haven’t any tact. If you don’t reverse your ways and learn to get along— if you stubbornly refuse to right your recent wrong— I won’t be held responsible for trying once again to cover up your misdeeds and atone for your sin. For once you’ll have to face up to your social gaffes— your misogynistic humor and inappropriate laughs. When you’re lying bruised and bloody, helpless on the floor, you’ll finally discover what high heels are really for!!!
It pays to keep a watchful eye out when you are ecstatic, for it is a given that’s rather automatic that you’ll attract a follower who’s overly phlegmatic who’ll try to bring you down to earth by means rather emphatic. Every time they visit you, it’s sure to be traumatic. They’ll wring that joy right out of you, replace your thrill with static. You can’t escape their diatribes for they are most dogmatic. They’ll suck away your air until you’ll swear you are asthmatic.
In your efforts to avoid them , you’ll grow ever more erratic. You’ll hide out in the basement or may turn acrobatic— swinging from the treetops to climb up in the attic. When meeting them in public, you might choose a plan dramatic and douse yourself with perfume until you’re so aromatic that they might find approaching you a bit too problematic. All-in-all, my friend, I would advise you be pragmatic and devise a strategy that’s idiosyncratic, for there are times in life when we must be melodramatic!
She had a nature most erratic whereas his was mainly static. She was a girl who liked to rock. All day he sat and watched the clock. Few pleasures did he ever find in his life work’s daily grind.
When they first met, I must confess, he questioned how she chose to dress. High heels with socks were not the way that ladies dressed back in his day. She was eighteen and he was forty. She dressed funky. He dressed sporty.
He liked golf. She loved the clubs. She chewed her fingernails to stubs worrying about the planet’s fate. She slept around. He didn’t date and worried not about emissions nor those Save the Earth commissions.
What soul who knew them both would guess they’d ever meet, or even less imagine that they’d get along— he with his pipe, her with her bong? Let’s put them in each other’s way. See how they’d act. See what they’d say.
She meanders through the park in the evening, before dark. He’s walking home from the ninth hole. She rounds the corner, he crests the knoll. They meet soon on the walkway path. They have to pass. You do the math!
She eyes his clubs. He eyes her socks. Her expression questions, but his mocks. He doesn’t nod, she doesn’t greet. If you were wishing they might meet, you’ll have to write your own romance. These two as lovers? There’s no chance!!!
Prompt words today were rock and guess. Here are links: