Its Your Choice
Sometimes
on a Monday
I am feeling like
a dairy cow farmer
in the 1800s in a
feral bloom
of white snake root.
At the start,
it's a long look
down the barrel of a
sniper's rifle of a week.
By the time Friday arrives
we are tired, but rejoiceful.
We are ready to rest and
laugh at the black look
of Monday from afar,
ignoring the gratitude
we should have at
having ANY Mondays
in this strange shared consciousness.
The glee we should feel
at getting the opportunity
to see another day
in the weird way
that we've been gifted this life.
The magnolia trees are still gonna bloom.
The garbage is still going to stink.
The trees and their majestic poses.
The dirty dishes waiting in the sink.
The joyful laughs of chubby babies.
The frightening scream of bobcats in the night.
The leaves changing in the autumn.
The rotten tooth just come to light.
The cool breeze on tired skin.
The nasty uninvited bar fight.
The dreams of childhood hose drinks.
The visions of yourself in flight.
Like shade
on a hot day,
you could
turn into this comfort
or you could push it away.
Mick Jagger said
'I can't get no satisfaction'.
Yet he also said
'You can't always get what you want'.
It seems
he was confused
before that summer of love hit.
How many times
did Mick get hitched
before he figured out
that love is compromise?
Love is
doing the dirty dishes
when you're both tired.
Love is
folding that last load of laundry
because he folded the last five,
and that couch guilt
will get you up sometimes.
Love is
sometimes listening
when listening
is difficult.
Love is
eating broccoli
even though
you don't like it.
Love is
saying 'Baby, those pants look great on you!', even when there is a muffin top present
that you know that they worry
way too much about and
you don't give two shits
about it being there, but you know they do.
Love is
staying awake on that road trip
to keep them company
because they don't like
being alone when they drive.
Love is
imagining life with them
and all of the decades ahead of you
even when you thought
almost all of your decades
would be behind you by now.
Love is
thinking about life
with two kids,
white picket fence, a mortgage
and two car payments
and having the ultimate, giant relief
of knowing that for at least right now
you are parents of two cats
in a one bedroom apartment for rent
in the woods, with two cars
that are both at least 10 years old.
Love is sometimes sacrifice.
Love is compromise.
Love ain't all about getting satisfaction, Mick.
But it sure can give you comfort
when the times get dark
and you just want to paint it black.
April Ridge scrawls messages in the night on the clouds that dreams are made of. She whispers sweet nothings to the muses of time and revels in the chance to swim in the deep nothingness of silence, if only to shout ‘Echo’ in it. April prides herself on finding the perfect outfit in which to adorn the skeleton of the soul. She hopes to highlight the needs of poems in danger, on the run, escaping from the need to fit into one form or another, on their way to the freedom of epiphany. April’s debut chapbook Monstrous will appear out of the mist in late September, along with all the spooky stuff. You can find her on Facebook and Instagram.
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