So absorbed was he
With himself that no
Other person’s needs
Merited even a moment’s
Pause or the slightest
Consideration.
Feverish quest for
Attention and gratification,
A cavernous hole that
Can never be filled,
Consuming all energy
And purpose.
So close to the
Problem at hand,
Failing to see any
Simpler solution,
Though many exist.
Compulsive obsession,
Absolute focus on
Undesirable options,
Unknowingly banishing
Common sense.
A moment of clarity,
Scenario viewed
From a different angle,
Yielding far better
Results, tranquility.
He remembers a time
When he assumed that
What he was saying
Mattered, that it was
Being taken into account,
Considered as important
In some way, part of the
General decision-making
Process that occurs
In a family, then
The day came when
He realized his words
Had no weight at all.
As with most of the
People she surrounded
Herself with, Samantha
Preferred to live on
The surface, stumbling
From one experience or
Heartache to another,
Leaving buried the more
Meaningful things that might
Lead to actual fulfillment,
Pretending everything
Was fine and manageable.
Sitting in his favorite chair,
He motions to his wife to
Fetch him another beer and
Stares blankly into the
Television where a smug
Talking head reinforces all
His worst impulses and
Lends credence to the appalling
Thoughts clogging his every
Waking moment, physically
Animate, emotionally dead.
I call for some help and
Receive a compulsory
Labyrinthine tour through
Rooms I do not wish to visit,
Guided by an artificially polite
Personality promising to
Get me to my destination, and
Culminating with a regrettably
Commonplace, harrowing,
Discouraging push off the cliff
Into limbo. Should I wish to
Ride again, my host will
Cordially welcome me and
Usher me along to continue
Aging with the muzak.
Even thought he’ll
Never publicly admit it,
He’s really on a crusade
To impose his point of view
On unsuspecting others.
Insightful people have told him
He’s dogmatic and inflexible,
But he just looks at it
As being steadfast
In the face of too much
Whining from too many milquetoasts
Who don’t know right from wrong.
He grew up on a frontier of sorts,
Where you knew who the good guys were
And what color hats they wore.
He’ll never concede that
His cherished belief system doesn’t
Lend itself to nuance,
Or rely on evidence or fact,
You either get it or don’t,
He knows he’s got it,
No matter what anyone says.
Fail your own children,
But pamper theirs and
Tend to their every need.
A paragon of caring and
Virtue. A smarmy interloper
Peddling love and kindness.
Never acknowledge past
Shortcomings, bask in the
Glow of unconditional regard
From innocents too young to
Realize who you really are.
A second chance to
Pat yourself on the back.
Furtively erase responsibility,
Edit the record.
An uneasy sense
Of impending dread
Permeates her being.
She got the inevitable call,
The one where they unilaterally
Announce they’re coming.
Time to clean too much
So that no ill-advised
Comments are uttered.
Always such a pleasure
To have them inevitably
Descend upon her.
