They say that social pain, is the worst kind of pain
a human can endure…
and some people enjoy social pain
daily.
Think of it…
What would it be like to break your femur
on a daily basis?
Many people do
and this is why
there are many suicides
but some social outcasts
heal stronger
until their bones are made of iron.
In a society
the social war rages
and the medical tents are filled with
drug overdoses
alcoholics
neurotics, with battle fatigue
and a host of medical disorders, that have no known cause.
Bureaucracies
break people.
These institutions
are similar to
high school
and the clicks that form.
Professionals, who work there
have egos
like a demon, carried in their briefcases
or handbags.
The administrator with the gold bracelets
and smart watch
silk blouse
and fake blonde hair
has a Chihuahua
inside her Louis Vuitton purse.
Her meeting was held to improve communication
between the parents and the school
but it took two and a half hours
to have, a slow-cooked meal
that upset my stomach.
What I can’t understand
is how they talked so much,
and communicated so little.
The specialist wears fake glasses, so that she seems smarter
but the more she talks, the stupider, she sounds—
there’s a lizard inside her purse
that she strokes.
The male administrator
is bald.
He wants to let everybody know
he is listening to their feelings.
His ego, is a pet monkey, in his briefcase.
Occasionally, he feeds it bananas
and it shits, on his paperwork.
90 minutes in
the 5-foot-tall Jewish lady
tells me, “A high schooler died today.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. There was no warning. They just died.”
She’s going to retire in two months
Her ego is a canary, that doesn’t sing—
it will, when she retires.
I sit in the meeting, not talking
only watching
the important people talk.
I feel their emotions of hate—
even the professionals don’t like the family.
The lawyer, kills their egos, with a smile on her face
with a plastic bag, suffocating
their pets, stroked in secret.
My ego is a cat
brown, with yellow eyes
It sleeps in plain sight
but nobody can see it.
I don’t need to stroke it.
It’s as independent, as the killer it is
and it listens, but it doesn’t say anything.
When the meeting is done
the professionals talk
“Oh—the reason I got angry was because I didn’t like how she was treating that teacher…” the male monkey said.
“Yes—you did the right thing,” the female Chihuahua barked.
“What’s that smell?”
“Something shit in my purse.”
I quickly get up, and leave the meeting
as silently as a cat
It’s sunny skies
outside,
that grim building
of death.
I really like the line about “her ego is a canary that will sing when she retires” makes me think of a coal mind canary warning of carbon monoxide and imminent death.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Mine*
LikeLiked by 1 person
Yes–I think your thoughts were in the back of my mind! Thanks for reading Jon Roberts!
LikeLike