Understanding
is something
that comes from
the daunting
reminder
that we are all the same

and it's not happiness
but the disheveled,
underpaid,
antagonizing
waiter
who launders around tables.

Being treated poorly
by people
that can't even
take the hands of time
to read the name
of a person that serves them life

the succulent roasted pork
with a side salad
or a bowl of broccoli soup
have more in common with
our suffering waiter
than the illiterate people.

many learn lessons that schools cannot teach
where ego meets danger and unknowns beseech
perhaps there is nothing and everyone’s clean
or maybe there’s something that’s going unseen
from teachers who cheat to admins who steal
no dose of prestige can save lives that are real

the crossing guard owns twenty cats with the mange
school cop clipped his brother while out on the range
a history teacher abusing his kids
librarians selling school books to high bids
the crew in the arts are all in on a coup
while the principal staff launders money for *****

hey, i’m just here to sweep up and i call what i see
other folks won’t speak up but a few will agree
i don’t do that no more, i’m out five years last june
they’ll be following suit lest they change their act soon
still no one here dares to expose what’s involved
in keeping the peace held among these halls

She nags
She shouts
She cooks, she launders, she cleans,
Thumping,strutting and waddling all day long,
A smack for us and choicest words for dad if we come in her way.
She talks and laughs out loud too,
Sometimes, she doesn't hesitate to give us her piece of her mind ,
For her a stone is a stone,
That is her, my mum,
That is her way of showing her love.
We are her world.
18/8/2019

Show me a picture,
Let me show you the texture.
We can make wonders,
After tons of launders.
Hold it back.
Wait!
Flow it on.

At times we decide
To take turn into a direction
We know we won’t come back from
I wonder what it is
That turns the wheel
The curiosity
The thrill of a new road
We never drove on before
Perhaps even a little bit of
Self-destructiveness
Maybe sometimes we need to lie
In a bed of thorns
And broken bottles
It restarts out minds
It launders our heartstrings
It’s the dung we need to know
From the very inside
So even if this motel
Might be far apart
I turned my wheel
Knowing of the wounds and stitches
I will carry on my back
After returning home
And smiling
While imagining
Pulling out the shards
- bursts of growth can be painful