Recycle, recycle, recycle.
Dunno where to go. Readers need my rambling to have something that makes everything else seem better by comparison. Started off on a rant. Was a good one too. One of my faves. The gender/sex/undecided thing. Determined a lot of difficulty or controversy is because those who love to feel themselves the ‘wronged’ side of the issue bring most of it on themselves.
Imagine me, a dude, sitting there minding my own business. You know, waiting for a moment of privacy so I can pick my nose. Along comes Beverly/Bruce. S/he spies me contemplating the square root of pie, or another cup of coffee with or without pie, square or otherwise.
(Still imagining) I made the mistake that morning, earlier, old dewd and all, of dressing like, well, a dewd. Guy. Male. Scared to death over that but prepared to deal with it. Then, there’s my skin color and my age. My fault. I asked for it. Beverly/Bruce walks up…
“What are you looking at?”
“Umm. Who? Me?”
That clearly was a mistake. What a sexist thing to say!
I admit, once Beverly/Bruce had my attention, I wondered if s/he had naturally purple and green hair. Or if it was a good idea to have that much metal lanced into (visible) body parts in the beginning of thunderstorm season here – a walking lightening-rod. Admit too, I wondered how one could work so hard at dressing “male” simultaneously failing while not clearly establishing maleness, and why, for the love of all that’s holy, if maleness is so ******* wrong, why that’s what Beverly/Bruce was striving for? Why not something clearly androgenous or clearly a new gender-identity? Saran wrap and aluminum foil? Coconut husk and hemp? Why springboard from the disgusting male gender? Start fresh!
You can see a rant predicated on such a shoddy premise was not one of my finer moments.
Of course, dispensing with the ever-popular gender thing, my rant deteriorated into Republican/Democrat insanity. Thereafter the purple/green discrimination thing. Finally, which was a clue my vitriol should never see the light of day, I lapsed into the deplorable Ford and Chevy argument. Sometimes, self-censure is a good thing.
Maybe a piece of flash, I thought. All my shamus starts are waiting for a chance to become yet another big-time piece doomed to molder-away unfinished, or anyway, unpublished, or not well-enough noodled to support either a short or flash.
Maybe a poem.
Good Morning Dear
Mornings here are quite a riot –
Buzzes, splashes, never quiet.
There’s beard to scrape from off my face,
While she mascaras eyes in place.
In days gone by it wasn’t bad,
Was two full bathrooms then we had.
Since we’ve downsized to only one,
Our morning rush just isn’t fun.
When scheduled right, we do it well.
That we’re cramped you cannot tell.
Miss a beat there’s hell to pay,
We’ll end up in each other’s way.
One morning I, a bit too slow,
Was out of step, and badly so.
As she passed by, she did implore,
“For pity’s sake, please close the door!”
Clearly my heart’s not in it. Not today.