Free Verse: Inconsequential Investigation

Please visit the prompt here

Free Verse: Inconsequential Investigation

I

Over the speed limit - fiftyfive, on this particular highway

crisscrossing state lines. No one really cares anymore

about where you started - you’re at the point where

you’ve enough writ and read enough pages and imparted

enough wisdom from both fools and sages

Ya think I’ve still got a few good years left. Yeah right.

One used to be able to retire at sixty-two (was it?) and

now it is closer to seventy for us baby boomers anyway.

Even though the young’uns are on their own, they’ve

still come back again diggin’ deep in our pockets.

They also done did (because we are close enough - this is

a privilege?) choose to drop off their own chickies. Laid them

fine eggs themselves they did - just fine n’ dandy, broke them

shiny shells, left some on our plate; cal-c-yum and Fort-t-fied.

‘Spose though we (I, mainly) should not complain.

I can go to bed in a quiet house - they drop ‘em off early,

pick ‘em up early eve. The place though is a tad quiet when

my man ain’t home. Travels for his job. He done good so far;

house is paid for, so are the used cars that are still runnin’.

We even get to vacation by our little ol selves. That’s real nice.

Dang some days it is close to their leave taking hour that I gotta

rest me some. Plum wore out after toddling after those toddlers.

The under five set keeps my heart a pumpin’ and just some days

exhausts the heck out of my old bones that my head hits the pillow

almost soon as the sun sets.

So why am I whinin’? Just because I can.

Can you commiserate that I have no time

for hobbies packed in boxes now collecting dust.

Not that I ever did expect to become famous

for shaping clay or twirling yarn.

I do enough spinnin’ - with words I suppose.

So mosey by sometime and set-a-spell.

Yankee or Rebel, makes never-no-mind.

I’m a mellow version of my former self (ain’t we all?).

And I’m just informing y’all that y’all are welcome.

Got me a birthday comin’ ‘round the bend to this

old soul in a middle aged body, not lookin’ half bad.

I ain’t squeaky clean (are you?)

We’ve all done some things we regret -

So now and then, join me as I digress…

I’ll do a bit o’ diggin into some deeper shadow places

though I don’t intend to sink to multi-fathomed depths

neither. For now though - this moment my lids are heavy.

And there is some moisture leaking, retracing well stained

tracks of tear stains on my cheeks - time for a break.

II

Woke more than once to dreams reeling -

questioning why the preacher seems to be looking at...

me, not through me to someone else as I squirm.

All those sermons entering one ear

and tripping freely out the other - why go at all?

Really who is to my judge and jury?

One bespeckle brimstone voice once said I had no

choice. Another said kneel, till it hurts.

Third and fourth ones’ didn’t really give a damn.

This new one though he smiles real sweet.

Got me out of my comfort zone more than once.

But I do truly believe old habits never die -

I am sure I have defaulted mightily and verily.

Don’t really care neither if I am only in

that sanctuary on the most holiest of days.

I’m thinkin’ I’ve taken to heart the notion

that my very own body is a temple.

Even if I like my soda pop and chocolate.

I’ve not been one to inhale tar,

eat fungus that might take my soul far -

Some nights I might take me a glass of wine.

Doc says that’s a good thing (but then them with education

is always changin’ their minds).  I don’t over load on vitamins

or have a passel of prescription drugs - but don’t y’all

call me a tea-totaler neither.

Y’all go on and have your fun - fly to those heights

that were only meant for the birds.

Some fat canned scientist I read  - he done said

that perfumed week kills brain cells dead.

But y’all go on - I am not your mammy.

Drink your case loads of beer or lager -

or even that fine sparkling stuff

that pops loud when you de-cork it.

If I say I’ll pass, than you -

judge me not. I’ve got my own vices.

But know this now, listen clear -

I don’t kiss and tell.

I just spill my pen’s ink

as if it were limitless oozin’ blood

and let the words spill and stain.

Takes a load off my brain when I do that.

Jot and twist the letters. Attempt them to toe the line.

And if you get anything at all from ‘em

We’ll ain’t that mighty fine (but don’t call it influence

of any kind)...y’all make your own choices.

III

Y’all know verses from a poets pen

they are like kin. Children - mostly poems

are birthed and nurtured; primmed,

trimmed and graduated. Sent out into the world

(well sometimes) to speak for themselves.

An’ just like young’uns

They might look back once or twice

and blow you a kiss. Maybe even say; “I love ya”

But then they gone - vanish disappear.

That is until they need somthin’.

And that’s only ‘cas them darn poets

(yeah, that’s me, most likely you too)

are already thinkin’ of how to birth

the next one. All the pleasure is in gettin’

the current issue outta the door.

And if it ain’t payin’ back royalties

(like that’s how it ever really happens -

well maybe if y’all are some fancy-pant

star whose got people to get in touch

with them other people). Who really cares?

File ‘em, pile ‘em. Do any of them words

make any sense - Do they compute?

Guess enough so to pass the time of day

and make it a tad easier to rise the next dawn.

Compost is a dirty word. Yep. Shit happens.

Everything influences us from our first breath.

Some of us are havin’ an overload on death.

From the martyrs from way back to those in

the current news.  I heartily recommend that

Y’all just  damn well know all the facts.   

That rule that everyone says is golden was

writ by a vengeful creator. Some don’t want to

see that side. But it’s there as plain as day.

And then there are the pacifists who believe in karma.

So all them jack-asses too will eventually cease.

There are just so many rules to follow -

even in the grammar I never did learn all that well.

Perhaps y’all will forgive me for my ramble.

Maybe you won’t even read but

every other word…

Makes no never mind, no it don’t

Because now it’s out there. And somewhere,

somehow the breath I gave - it’s gonna brew

and steep like tea. Get real dark

so as y’all are gonna need you some sugar.

©Ina                                 

(Note: The flavor may have changed some. As it was

written over several days. It is what it is.)