STRANGE THINGS HAPPENING EVERY DAY

in Poetry

I want to write a serious farce, not a farce seriously. I’m looking to have fun saying something interesting with misdirection and subtext..whatever the hell that really is. The wad of the whole idea started with an old poem of mine that is often misunderstood or badly put. Most likely the latter. Have a see.

One Day At A Time.

I’m going to start doing Sundays sober
with the Times unread
and the game unwatched
and pass on the beach
to stay off line
and out of the bar

And if negating Sunday proves easy,
I’ll random walk a week
day
to annul, for instance,
Thursday, which
I’ve never really
cared for

It seems many read this as a pledge or promise to stop this or that vice. To get better. To reinvent self. No way.

It’s more a acknowledgment that time is a punchline, and how it takes so damn long to get this inside joke. Whatever the day of the week, or season of the year, from birth to death the human condition is a random walk. There is no negating the nature of self. Nor can you annul actions that go against the grain of self. Time doesn’t offer forgiveness. Nor does it praise. It’s just is, was, or will again, be Thursday.


I’m spry yet retired. I reside in the inner city of a major metropolitan area of the United States. I read politics. I watch baseball. I hum along with the tune. I June swoon, and moon the bad poem. Post here, are old and new. Opinions are my very own, except when wrong.