Lessons Never End 

Okay,
this little itch
scratch
laceration
fatal wound…

So many monikers,
but, let’s try blame.

Candy store antics,
jellybeans,
quick snatch,
friends cheer,
eat,
praise,
hero,
right?

Shame.
Blame.

Blame.
Shame.

Blame.
Blame.
Blame.

Adolescent fever,
impenetrable,
bullet proof,
right?

Of course,
‘til shoplifting,
almost caught.
Hey!

Made it.

Can’t tell anybody.
Sh*t.

Half the fun.
A bomb now.

A trip?
Hell, yes.

Sense of power?
Got that right.

Can’t tell anyone?
Bummer, Dude.

Pubes explode.
Girlfriends.
Back seat lovers.
Slippery gloss-lipped conquest,
right?

Sure,
‘till…

D*mn.
Condom busts.
Can’t brag.
Can’t face up.
Accountability.
F*ck the lesson.
Don’t want to grow up.
No.
No.
No.

But…

Now.

Wallet still full of your children's pics.
6 month old.
2 year old.
4 year old (terror).

Bars.
Conventions.
Manager’s meetings.
Pizza empire growing….
For him.

Them.

What about you?

Ah, c’mon.
Divorce?

Yeah, that’s right.
Blame sneaks up on ya
when you’re suckin’ hind teet
on the job.

Or unemployed,

Or furloughed,

Or worse…

So…

So…

So…
here you are.

The park,
some kind of higher self,
keeping vigil over your daily reverie,
while you ready up some new learnin’…
all over again.

Guilt?

Guilt doesn’t work.
Hard lessons, though?
Got your PhD in that.

So…

So…

Time isn’t going to wait,

Certainly not for a procrastinator.

Okay…

Seems so long ago, doesn’t it?

That first lesson.

Many lost battles.

Still…

Your war can be won.

Accept the scars.

Lessons never end.