...routine will **** me yet?
(sonnet #MMMMMMMMCMXLIII)
If twas some lurid rite of passage, whence?
Gulp scalding water down cuz naught'd avail:
I'm driving, nor can spit aught out. Derail
Hopes of a lovely ev'ning cuz what hence?
Being brave jist does not cut it. I'm burned, sense
Now screaming in me til I canna fail
To hear that I'm on fire inside. Detail
Which, after that? I'm tamer--is't defense?
If being above ground is a joke as t'were,
Tis ***** and too cruel to torture through
My waning hours what's left of all in tour
I thought t'enjoy, or vainly thought I knew.
Mum held her tongue, yet warned me. Dad too. Stir
Hope in but Thee alone, LORD: I need You.
27Oct24b
My brother, after listening to my recitation, enquired whether I'd sue the establishment for my tortures...but it's all my own fault. Only purchasing iced drinks taught me to take sips while driving home. If only I'd not left the straw in that Stanley/Starbucks cup, perhaps I'd not have gulped more than a sip and would have far less chagrin and pain for accidentally forgetting it was freshly boiled.
