Full Circle

                                     Squealing wheels, unwanted pregnancies
                                     aim collisions with one good eye, the one
                                     with timing precise enough, the one not cut
                                     in slices by its glass, its thieving glass
                                     refusing to be taken for the fool.
                                     What’s the going rate on self-control?
                                     Put your request in writing, our day nurse says,
                                     then I did as told to, so I gave them this.
                                     No word will ever go to waste. The sin
                                     that will damn you’s in not saying it.
                                     I made a habit of letting each tool forget
                                     what it was for, let each lie where it fell
                                     expecting someone else to know the plan
                                     complete with the usual scheduled delays,
                                     each win with its equal and opposite loss.
                                     A good thing it is they never heard of us!
                                     Another good thing is they don’t realize that!
                                     Better yet, we’ve nothing they can use!
                                     And best of all, what’s right will not prevail,
                                     so we stand half a chance, once on our own.
                                     Before the snow morphed into freezing rain,
                                     I landed flat as ice, flat down on my face.
                                     It’s not the risk of change that makes me ill
                                     come morning, nor predictions that I’ll not
                                     come through in one piece proving what I chose.


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