Slavish tonic for scuttlebutts

It's not so quiet in simmering disagreements.
But we don't hear the birds chirp and sing,
we don't hear the strong voice of the barging
truck along the same requirement, the same
trail for tires.
They only need a miserly abandonment of wear;
really only a trifle of life - life on any street.

But to be dissed, and dissed well.
That is certainly a trial, or triumph of the spirit or
the will of cowardice. And it's not just there -
it's everywhere that we, that you see this.

No soft landing here, disagreeing is an Alaska
mist - dangerous this, unseen logs rolling in a
shivering stream, waiting for human tumblers
underground, for permanent company from fools.
Or those who are lost,
sleepless with the latest act of
cruelty or insolence.
It's the best methodology
for arguments, where before we just simmered below
the surface before exploding.

It was not cool - such destruction of hearts, souls.
And they still burn, they simmer, as I said to you.
You never minded it though, since it was below
the level of scuttlebutt, which means it was not worth
noticing.

© 2013 Larry Ingram