It's not your world,
so stop complaining, you.
Sometimes, yes,
I call myself "you".
affectionately.
You, stop!
(Nobody but me
has the authority
to stop my complaining.)
Other times I
refer to myself as "we",
as in,
It's not our world. . .
(We're so tired
of having to explain ourselves! )
I don't know what is normal
anymore. Or useful
or an effective way
of getting across to myself.
Right now what I am working on
is censoring old songs
that I (or we)
are forever singing
to myselves.
These songs date back
to a time when I was little
and my mother was always
humming or whistling or singing
them and many others
that I have forgotten.
When she had Alzheimer's
I would drive her around
the countryside she loved
singing all these songs
back to her.
She joined in.
But now that she is gone
these songs don't speak to me;
they just are.
They sing
themselves back to me!
I might be stacking wood
and I snap,
Shut up!
as if to a teenager
with radio blaring.
And another thing
I, we
are working on
is trying not to be so disappointed
with the human race.
Today I emailed my brother:
Lately I feel like
I am surrounded by idiots.
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