melissaahowells
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I keep scraps of paper
in my purse purple pens handy for situations where I can improve the moments. 90 degree plus heat air conditioned malaise riding through the haze time for a-musings notes to self, for myself alone. never liked the phrase "the ultimate" seems to me to be over-stating the oblivious both retail/fitness establishments alike, over-use this ineffective window dressing this smacks of marketing 101 failed twice or one very bored copywriter. downtown there seems to be a lot of non-constructive activity. people nosh without knowing. cross streets without thinking. and the pigeons have odd eating habits. everywhere birds are pecking furiously at cigarette butts. are they blind, desperate or nicotine addled? These avians can't seem to catch a break. and seem more human by the day to me. they have my empathy. even if others may think me a sap. on the home front, a crow family and I have formed a special bond. they recognize me as the official feedbag. now, nearly every time I exit my apartment, there is a cacophony of expectation. among them, there's a plucky, fuzzy juvenile. (I do like him.) I've observe his Mother feeding him, but also trying to get away from him more and more often. the youngster is persistent. however, the other day, he nearly fell to the ground, when he tried to land next to his Mother. she'd purposefully perched on a narrower span of wire. no room for him to alight. loud squawking ensued. this must be how all parents and children feel about one another from time to time. still, I feel for the kid. the confusion of growing up and all. childhood can be rough. recently my apartment manager chastised me for putting out cool water outside my door for my diabetic cat. I eventually was able to finagle "special terms" with her through the landlord to do this. an exception was made. otherwise, I would have paid a fine. been non-compliant. had a record. since when have things become so counter- intuitive? a lot of rules seem to be over-burdening basic human interactions and even creativity. what if I forget them all? what ensues then? what about those of us, who like me who, at times, hang back in the weeds a bit? question? consider options? like to negotiate? discuss? debate? is there no harm no foul? I am considering the possibility of Velcro labels. difficult. activist. lefty. anarchist? (since I am usually less inclined to follow all the rules.) what colors might these labels be so you might remember me. it fills me with glee. there are so many choices. copyright august 5 2014 all rights are reserved by this author meloo/Melissa a howells straight from her Tilt-a-World all stories, ideas, rants, dark humor, poetry are the legal property of this author thank you Vote for this poem |
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