The unspoken words
Nay said in the lunch room
As we fume and fuss
Over the cleaning of the frig
Or pondering the broken microwave
When will it be fixed or replaced?
But never, in any case, speak the unspoken
However whispers might possibly work
And for God’s sake!
Avoid confrontation
Feelings are what they are
Leave them in place
Or just hide them in the broken microwave
Five minutes pass
And life goes on
Fall descends on us
Chasing summer’s fleeting dreams
Replacing them with brisk real breeze
And darkening skies
And that oh so deafening silence
So real, yet so plastic is the bandaid
Slapped hurriedly over the festering wound
Hoping against all odds it will heal
Wishing it away, praying it gone
Knowing different, but fighting it still
In a twelve round winner-take-all
With common sense in one corner
Survival instinct in the other
And the winner by unanimous decisions is!
Survival instinct
Neatly tucked into the broken microwave
As expected.
We miss you, Chad.
You deserved better
Than a broken microwave
And a crap poem….
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