Dead Man Walking
Why does this song break my heart? Because he said it’s my life and I’ll die when I want to. But I’ll miss you. Hey Joe, why do you have that gun in your hand? To shoot my other, ol’ lady the term of the times, caught her sleeping with another man.
These days, dark enlightenment or was it those. What about the other man?
I bought you gifts. Now you’ll pay me. I’ll divorce you see you on the weekend and everyone else between. Kiss the kids. Be free but is it freedom; were we?
It’s my life and I’ll die when I want to not according to you.
Though my entrepreneurship is in a different venue, the non-profitable teaching profession, our dilemmas are similar. When I was certified to teach in Europe my classroom was infants through business adult and that included the college student, but here in the United States instead of receiving a whole document and full responsibility I am given of fragments and not allowed to do this to do that though I am very well-qualified. So in that sense I am overqualified for my job though by means of excuse I am told I can’t because I am not permitted the fragment of paper necessary to be confined to a corner.
I want to write something but what I know not
I say that often, more often than I ought
I think some fresh coffee would hit the spot
It all trailed off. She sat there. “Good God, that’s a helluva start” (right place for the comma – check that) Melissa thought, as she sat at the laptop – “no, I just said sat, overkill” – enjoying the sunrise, reveling in the peace with her grandson asleep… around the corner from the planet of the apes. “Man, what’s with me today… I can feel it. Now, how do I get that down on paper, technically no paper? (But with the question mark instead of a period it comes across as I don’t know for sure – eh) I want to keep typing. Typing what? ! (an exclamation point in the middle of nowhere but the spell check doesn’t care – no green or red indicators – hmm) My fingers want to keep moving. Maybe I should wrap them around a coffee pot. Maybe I should cut them off so I stop with the idiotic rhyming. Idle hands! Have I been possessed? Only parts of me get possessed; my feet are possessed, they always want new shoes. If I don’t buy them… if I buy them – better – my thinking is / has been possessed. With the idiocy of my writting, that’s writing, I’m guessing yes. The spell check keeps correcting so I do my best. It’s stopping me from being myself, which is a good thing? Machinery is taking over! Maximum overdrive… Seriously?”
Melissa looked up from the table. A small figure appeared in the entrance. “That’s not scary. Say ‘a figure appeared’… I should stop.”
She went into the kitchen. Well, she went into the kitchen after she and her grandson did their morning hugs.
“Is that good grammar…” Never mind.
He’d come to pick up his son. The front doorbell rang but she was busy with the others in the back room. Startled seeing him in the doorway, she instinctively glanced him up and down as he did her. “We’re dressing alike. This isn’t good. He must be some kind of freaky. I’m an alpha. We’d argue about who’s in charge. Could be fun. Hhmmmfh. Why am I thinking this?”
“She’s an alpha” ran through her mind. “She needs more love than any others.”
“Where did that come from?” She looked around.
He was at the far end of the classroom signing his son out. He looked back; she caught his full image. Smiling she walked toward Little Hercules who’d bent the handle of the plastic broom in half. He was concentrating trying to get it to flip up and down…