failed effort

I tried/try/will try to kill hope,

there is no more vicious emotion to reside in the human heart

than the feeling that good things could quite possibly happen

but this is the wild bermuda grass of the soul

impossible to extirpate


hope stillborn

I will not get the job. I am not

what they are looking for.

This is not to say I will not try: When I fall

I will fall forward

my fingers crooked to claws

trying to scrabble my away across the finish line

that always seems to be three inches

beyond my reach.

Fine Print:

I have become all that I ever feared:
old, and helpless, and without value in a society that believes in money, but not in Mothers.

Prate and preach about the sanctity of the hearth-fire and the home, and leave me no means to support either:
Snarl that I leech. Complain that I have nobody to blame but myself when there is no cash in coffer. Patronize when I go forth, children raised, into a world that wants thirty years of experience from a twenty-year old, Wants

the fifty-year-old to look twelve, Wants

all the experience in the world except for what you’ve paid decades of your life in learning.


Check Out Time

I can’t see that time right now, but I can see that time from here.

Mainly because there is no more hope, and I don’t even have the hope of hope left.

But I still can’t leave. I have to clean my life up as much as I can before I go, because nobody deserves the mess I’d leave if I left right now.

I suppose this means I need to make lists.

And find the motivation that my hope took when it left.