Bent, Spindled, Mutilated
Injury changes memory, not just the memory of the individual trauma, but the very nature of the mind. The hooks and loops distort and I can’t hold on as I once did. The misses and disconnects become more frequent, then they become expected. Emotional fluff-ups do not suffice, the hardware is damaged and a positive attitude is advisable but the pliers are a necessity. Some things are easier to break than to repair, in fact most things are easier to break, no skill required, though some take it on as skill, most destruction is ignorant or accidental, nothing personal just a part of a pain filled landscape. Direct intervention is not the same as hands-free degradation, though both have their cost. Redemption, restoration, is sought from all comers. Possibilities and probabilities stack; action is a relief, whether or not it is a fix. I take a breath to face the final blow, for when the cost adds up and I look for recompense all I hear is the check is in the mail.
Line the bin so the ick won’t stick
20 CART PILEUP
What’s the problem here?
Asks my sponsor, as she approaches my apparent impasse.
Well, I’ve been trying to get these carts lined up
What do you think of my progress?
How many carts do you have here?
A few, quite a few, why?
And how many horses? She asks
Just the one, the same as everyone else, I answer.
And where is this poor animal?
Behind the carts
OK, we have a twofold problem here.
First, one horse can handle only one cart.
So pick ONE
Second, that sad creature needs to be in the proper position
To do any good at all.
You had best figure out a way to get him in front
Or you will remain stuck
Even after you whittle down your burden.
I was stunned
She went to her cart
Climbed to the seat
And took the reins
How long did it take you to get yours like that? I ask
Honey it takes every day.
Don’t kid yourself
I wake up every morning with the same train wreck
Your standing in now.
Learn to sort faster
And you’ll have the rest of today
You can start over
With us tomorrow.