just got out of the shower
and i'm already sweating, buddy.
but i can't get the ****** thing off my mind
and i'll tell you why... oh boy you'll wanna hear it.
at first it's got you feeling all uppity
like you're ready to just
bounce up out of your seat
float to the windowsil
stare out for a brief moment before
whacking open the shudders
and taking the sunlight on your face and chest,
(loosening the top three buttons to really get the full effect.)
hell... the durned thing makes you wan-
t to break open your own durned rib cage
so your heart doesn't burst right through!
["you're your own monster!", somebody yells
but the rest of the audience shushes him right quick.]

then, buddy, comes the whole galloping and galavanting bit
where you triple jump your way through Villeneuve,
carefully noticing the shopkeepers and
hourglass employees at les boutiques.
["fingers crossed she doesn't drop it!"
an irate audience turns and glares... he stops.]
The nostalgia is ripe with a spring air, a thick humidity,
and a ******* chorus of plants and animals following you around.
You're on your first day of summer vacation!
You're free of every living thing that you've ever known and
you have no past present or future to introduce a care in the world!
God himself crafted your milky white edges
for this moment and this moment alone.

but then at the water's edge it all changes, buddy.
and before you all know it our anonymously familiar heroine
is stepped in (what feels like) a simple self-pity
that's been passed and passed anew since her
little house on the prairie ancestors,
["probably should've grabbed that spine!"]
and there's no telling when the panic attack will begin.
she is chained to the shore in true promethean fashion,
and the lights dim down real low as the tempest approaches.

but it never comes.
instead she is greeted by the ghost of #$%^##$%s passed
and the words that a younger woman wrote,
a fierce woman, who takes cream in her coffee at the cafe
but always tips the people because she knows how hard it is;
someone who would pick up a three leaf clover and keep it;
a lady who loves surprises.... just loves 'em, good or bad;
a seamstress who could weave a pirate's tale,
and leave you waking up in the morning itching for adventure;

... somebody who listens when other people speak.

[nobody moves but somebody starts crying and the spell is broken.]

she is startled alive from her musings by the coast and finds herself
surrounded by a thousand heroes with one face that's smiling at her...

... a lousy smile, i'll give you that,
but a smile, and an ordinarily little push of the thumb
to fix that spine back into the shelf.