I thought it innocent enough,
this dart of pucks, visiting hoards,
watching, only celebrating success,
blue in makeup, but red with sorrow,
this wanting eye, perceiving weakness,
taken by need, he insults the German,
the newly crowned, but wanting 
inconspicuous knighting, for desiring
samples of straw, bread, wheat,
none to draw on silence, though it stares
at one, or a crowd drawn on beer in blue
and red, accomplished, rising above simple
admiration, taken aback by obvious
drudgery of loss, in numbers impossible
to duplicate here.

Be it insult, it was taken to be an accepting
apology later, to dispel any thought of 
sanity, flowing as though sounds had no
meaning or brothers were kin, but for
kingdoms built on bribe, stealing honesty
by force, moving friends to wherever the
trial seems best, so fast moving is life that
they all - or most - a majority wanted a different
result from life, the sport of men, women
approve of this hometown hero, he takes
his place when loss if obvious - because they
must nearly disown what has come to be.

It will gnaw at the conscience, though a 
scientist may see it in a better light, the post-
game celebration was nothing like we wanted
from the mighty slugger, who struck out -
at least this time, when beer was offered -
no, nearly forced for accepting a seat on the
thrown, not free for a second this kingly
situation, lacking aplomb, grace or an
occasion to bestow the fight to more than a
brawl, wanting to satisfy some baser instinct
for winning, though it never scarred or
stormed the gates of heaven.

 © 2016 Larry Ingram

Come to a place of crowds, desperate for another
soul to match our wit, our excellent disposition -
to try to unmask rudeness on trains, they track our
every mood, cell us, face us, unwilling to let the
tracks stop for human error. If only they would see
as I do, can, cannot but let the public service, ads
for engaging all, but selected for thought,
superior, talented, unlike our banal existence,
sitting by other blue collars, still white,
in search of facing eyes.

I nearly eyed him, or her, matters not, but so many
stuffed into this space, as I walk to life, fixing things,
eating whatever may not be taken so others can
spy my trends for eating quickly, though careless
at meandering thoughts - they'll surely mug me
for my mental acuity - or lack of it, staring into
blankness, looking for hope in polished seats,
mentioned for wear hardiness, for dispelling rumors
of attacks in public, staring down for fear of knowing
each other.

It's a tack taken by many, exiting this station, that
to walk quickly, ignoring instinct for molasses, slowing
down life to one sentence, two, or even reading -
hold it up to crowds can gain from one's insight into
the worthless, or exciting, without giving a clue,
it tells of hard worn paper - owned by singularity -
how it got here, under arm, armed with cleverness,
looking or displays of genius, discard stares,
entry points to life, distain for the common,
looking for color in the mad dash.

© 2016 Larry Ingram

It was somewhat non-descrip, this diatribe
of misnomer, trying to breach the parking
situation as it were, a travail of sort, landing
where it will, burned rubber or coffee - free
to all who dare to transgress topics,
personalities designed not to be seen.

We don't know about this, but for written form
that travels across our anger, spouting off
a bit when it hits the fan, though cliche,
trying all of our patience, when we have
to wait, and wait and then seem to express
frustration with human rights of coffee.

We'll tackle this by a trial and error basis,
as we discover the inner pangs of customers,
and others servicing them, to their joy,
or else, a pitt of reprobation, wafting about
in elegant denial, another bagel, baguette,
French, though American all in all.

Try anther one, then, as you can
exert your right to self proclamation -
proclaiming something resembling a height
of hypocrisy of servicing - we sincerely
apologize that you were alive while this happened -
and that this bar is lowered to such as degree
that no one - at least no adult can pass through -
or under at least.

All in all, an honest explanation, an exact
letter of dismay, as the membership stills,
still accumulating points for favor, despite 
a settled disgust, civil exile, even excommunication
from rational thought. We tire of anything
beyond exclusive customer service that
readies us with attempts to prove our point.

​© 2016 Larry Ingram