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A Daily Observer in Bad Poetry

Humor in Daily Life, Politics and Sports

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daily life

Social Media’s Crushing My Soul

Leaving the Doc’s sterile office, the exam paper left streaks on my rear
My lethargy and depression seemed symptomatic and I hoped not severe
My daily routine seemed aimless, what were goals were now dismissed
I was sleepwalking through life, working and eating but only to exist
Friendships seemed hollow, pleasure was fleeting as the world seemed a brownish gray
Hopefully the doctor could read something in my blood sample and right my dismay
I couldn’t check my personal page, look at my Twitter account or Instagram
As everyone’s got it better, has more followers, and about me not give a damn
In the past six months I’ve been friended by only four people that I don’t know
I liked something I saw so the friend request arrived to keep all status quo
The buzzing in my mind has grown louder reminding me of my inadequacy
And now I fear the persistent noise can’t be diagnosed clinically
The alcohol, the drugs, prescribed and not opened doors to nowhere
My tiny unremarkable life has become an unrelenting nightmare
No one notices, no one cares. The nurse only wanted my copay
So the doc can tell me nothing is wrong and to put my phone away.
But I can’t put it down, my cell has become me, I’m it’s identity
It’s my voice to all the other voices shouting at the globe’s inhumanity
It’s my umbilical cord to others meager triumphs and a channel to their hatred
The short video clips and bits of text all seem extreme, common sense negated
My thoughts begin to tumble, foreign voices and color explosions swirled
This device has become my addiction, an obsession in my private netherworld
Irrational thoughts of fame and glory have become a daily norm
My indifference coupled with lost souls’ recorded conflicts becomes a perfect storm
I’m feeling the need to end it all and find peace from the innate turmoil
Not to be understood,  my resolution makes sense to me and my mentor the phone, stays loyal

This Is The House Where Genetically Modified Products Dwell

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This is the House where GM products dwell

This is the juice
That was in the House where GM products dwell

This is the child
That drank the juice
That was in the house where GM products dwell

This is the tumor
That killed the child
That drank the juice
That was in the house where GM products dwell

This is the seed with labels defiled
That caused the tumor
That killed the child
That drank the juice
That was in the house where GM products dwell

This is the company salesperson with slanted facts compiled
That sold the seed with labels defiled
That caused the tumor
That killed the child
That drank the juice
That was in the house where GM products dwell

These are the shareholders hiding from law suits filed
Hiring company salespeople with slanted facts compiled
Who sold the seed with labels defiled
That caused the tumor
That killed the child
That drank the juice
That was in the house where GM products dwell

This is the seed company the knowledgeable public reviled
Bowing to the shareholders hiding from law suits filed
Hiring company salespeople with slanted facts compiled
Who sold the seed with labels defiled
That caused the tumor
That killed the child
That drank the juice
That was in the house where GM products dwell

This is the White House with campaign contributions stockpiled
Given by the seed company most often reviled
Bowing to the greedy shareholders hiding from lawsuits filed
Hiring company salespeople with slanted facts compiled
Who sold the seed with labels defiled
That caused the tumor
That killed the child
That drank the juice
That was in the house where GM products dwell

This is the once proud farmer now sowing contract GM corn
Watching the sun reflect off the headstone in the glow of early morn
He had signed the seed company’s indenture so there was no other recourse
If he attempted another seed product the GM lawyers would be there to enforce
Wishing he wasn’t planting seed developed as some lab’s brainchild
A broken man he barely functions, his grief can not be reconciled

The Paper Cut

paper-cut-2

I was grateful for this part time job, the pay was okay, and liked the people there

But the monotony of filing and proof reading reports was sometimes hard to bear.

The third cup of coffee was ineffective and my eyes were slowly closing

The sales numbers report to be delivered tomorrow wasn’t keeping me from dozing

Trained as an accountant and twenty five years of service, I was let go for a company down size

With bills to pay and kids in school, waiting for a full time gig seemed unwise

The shift was over in twenty minutes and the printer collator was on the fritz again

The contract service person was to be there but no one knows when

The presentation was to be completed by close of business day

Or a report will be filed in your personnel jacket much to your dismay

All was plodding along as expected when one of the sheets sliced through some skin

It wasn’t deep or long but some blood fell on the report and began sinking in

“You need to take that to a doctor,” said the office manager appearing like an apparition

“That’s not a suggestion,” she said all puffed up. “Now go see a physician.”

“I guess that since this is going to cost I’ll be covered by workman’s compensation.”

“No,” she said. “We don’t have enough full time employees to need that regulation.”

“Great no Workman’s Comp.,” I thought. “Not only no lunch break but no insurance.”

‘Don’t worry, they’ll probably band aid it.” She stated with her toneless assurance.

The doc-in-the-box was right around the corner next to the Quik Snip style store.

Stepping out of the car and over the chewing gum, I went through the glass door.

The woman behind the glass frowned. “With no insurance you need to pay in advance.”

“That’ll be seventy five dollars,” and still hadn’t given my wound so much as a glance.

So I wrote the check and thought that was half my pay for the week.

So I sat in a hard plastic chair smelling of alcohol and hair boutique.

I left the dog eared magazine for fear of six months of cooties jumping on me.

“Sir if you hang up your phone, you can come back now,” said the NP.

And from the attitude I knew right away she was not my cup of tea.

Her hair was spiked and her nose piercing appeared inflamed and infected

And a misspelling of one of her tattoos appeared to be corrected.

“So let’s see this little cut,” she said sliding a lamp over her head

The light shone on the cut and a dark spot was on the wound where it had bled.

“Hmm,” she hummed. “This dark spot may be dirt or possibly a cause for worry.”

I’m sending you over to the GP this afternoon, I hope you’re not in a hurry.”

“But I can’t afford another doc.” I said trying to be civil and not sound like a jerk.

“You’ll need to go,” she replied. “He’s right around the corner and then you can return to work

I can’t give you a note as there are tests needed here and you haven’t been cleared.”

“Damn,”I thought. “This little paper cut is starting to add up to much worse than I feared.”

The next office, three blocks away appeared to be nicer than the one before

The carpets were clean, the chairs padded, and no greasy smudges on the door.

The receptionist seemed cheery enough behind her sliding glass and jar of pens

“I heard you don’t have insurance,” she smiled looking over her reading half lens

“We received a call from your last visit and we’ll be sending your blood sample to the lab.”

“The lab we use charges $175 we need the check up front,” So far no one’s glanced at the scab.

So a heavyset woman in too tight scrubs took a large amount of blood to fill a vial

Then slapped a super hero band aid over the tiny cut and waddled down the aisle

“Am I going to see a real doctor,” I asked the nurse while buttoning my shirt

“Not today,” she replied. “ We had a patient come in that was really hurt.”

“And I see by your chart you only paid for lab work and didn’t pay for a doc.”

“Just as well,” I thought as I left the office. “I didn’t want to put my car in hock.”

“We’ll call with the results,” she said. “And here’s a note to get back to your business

And remember to sanitize your hands to ensure you didn’t pick up a sickness.”

So two hundred and fifty lighter I sit in my stifling hot car turning up the air

“It’s all stacked against the little people,”  I thought. “We get by on a wing and a prayer.”

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