All the dang concessions
I’ve had to make
over the years–
they’ve now begun double- and triple-
parking themselves in my corporeal curio cabinet.
I swear I even saw a few quad-park jobs.
Kim constantly tries to reassure me
I’m just a bit on edge, only hallucinating
(from the stress). But am I?
I haven’t felt this lucid in quite a while. In fact,
the last time I even approached this threshold,
Kim said I was “being a bit much”.
Then I tripped over those words
and fell flat on my face–
for five years. I was
absolutely terrified to think
that I may never again catch that
curio cabinet of concessions in my
viewfinder for convenient irony extraction.
The first three years
were a slog, with Kim squeezing my hand
the whole time, way too tight.
My saving grace? Teaching myself
perfect switch-handedness.
Came in handy! Totally worth the $9k.
Tag: Extraction
Sour Grapes
Intermittent bouts of solemnity douse the overall taramasalata stallion festival, though not for lack of trying, as Mr. Finch would tell you over a certain batch of sour grapes (the varietal is not a matter of import at this time). His method for reaching extraction technology milestones may only be described as giddy triumvirates of spellbinding skullduggery punctuated by ornate grandstanding of the second-to-highest order (the highest order being wallaby interferon proceedings that benefit only the best and brightest marsupials of any given generation, whether or not we view that as classist).
WHARVED 