Oh, it’s late at night after a busy day doing stuff. I’m becoming more convinced that I’m dealing with some arthritis in my right knee. So I’m considering bringing a kneeling pad along to work for when I have to get down on the floor to shelve or move something. I’d rather not be making a scene at work when a knee decides to flair up in pain so mitigating the “scene” aspect of growing older appeals to me. 🙂
Anyways, that whole aspect of making a scene led my brain down some other paths which of course led to this poem. You can find other people reacting to this word prompt at Miss Kate’s.
Making A Scene
Making a scene it
happened this way.
I plunked down some nano’s
on my cart, a rather loud thump.
Accompanied by a look of
dismay and a mild bit of vexation
evident in voice and actions.
My manager, standing opposite,
said “no words, no words needed!”
And then continued
“I haven’t had time to speak to
said stock boy in question”, the one
I KNOW fails to rotate product properly.
Making a scene it
happened this way.
Son, talking in living room
with his dad and suddenly he
bolts into the back yard, leaving
dad hanging, wondering what happened.
A cottontail screamed as the oldest
household cat, carried it into the
middle of the backyard.
The lad leapt to the rescue
capturing said cat and allowing
one, looked about six weeks old,
cottontail to bolt off.
Making a scene it
happened this way.
Death on three trees,
on a hill.
Celebrated/remembered yearly
in churches across the world.
Predicated by one snake
conversing with one lady
confusing her mind, and she in response,
turned the mind of her mate.
It’s hard some years to know this fact
that this scene, this death,
and yes, eventual life raised.
Was predicated by action that
“I” would have taken. Her confusion
would be my confusion. Her turning
of her mate would have been mine.
And so knowing this
at times
is difficult. Knowing that
strong internalization of
that willingness to be confused
by the whispering of the
not true God.
