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Picture Credits: http://www.kafkiano.blogspot.com
I am Inundated.
Inundated and rendered Impotent…
No, I don’t profess to be a victim
of a semi-curable condition…
an affliction
where Viagra, Cialas or some phony-baloney,
infomercial-hawked herbal concoction or topical cream
or “marital device”
could get me gleefully up and
put that pink glow
on my poor, neglected partner’s pensive face..
There’s no miracle cure(save, perhaps the Grim Reaper)
for my condition.
I am Overwhelmed.
Overwhelmed beyond imagination.
Totally Dysfunctional.
(Capital, again intentional).
Crushed. Incapacitated. Debilitated.
How did I get here?
Well, now,
I’ve only myself to blame.
It took about sixty odd years -
a lot of apathy and negligence -
but I’ve finally arrived
at the inevitable
inescapable
Point of No Return.
I can see it in my slack-jowled face
every morning as I scrape
reluctant whiskers from my chin and cheeks.
When I rinse my hands in the Men’s Room at work,
that same whipped dog stares back at me
begging the obvious question:
“What the f*ck?”
Two steps forward and three steps back.
No more:
"Gimme three steps, Mister, three steps towards the Door!"
I cannot win, therefore why strive?
Never the quitter, but there were goals once.
Now it’s too late for the brass ring.
(Frigging things' prol'y green by now)
Somewhere over the rainbow
is a bucket of feces.
There too, I’ll be inundated.
Copyright 2007
Lyle R. Berry
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