Slight maddening

I trailed the last teacher
when she said it was not saved.
Then he cursed the night, and into
the air it vanished.
As though it would not be
reigned in by cowboys, steers
wanting for territory their own.
Still, it was gone from the
day to night.
Beautiful in orange glow to
translucent that says you never
really were here.

But anger stayed on that spot -
the realm of beef -
stewing for days, it comes
and goes - but for sunshine,
biscuits and gravy in the morning,
we would have been there.
Well, not me but the traveling
companion who first complained
of tartar, of sauce baked long
and slow with whites,
with stains that were to be
remnants that led me to the
mountain.

But Kilimanjaro was never like
this cubicle, this room, I favor
for drama, for simple walls -
usually blocking something
in memory banks.
Totally immersed, it was
not ever saved this mist,
a spray of my mind that surely
you noticed.
Please notice or there will
be no reason to doodle in
pain.
At last a break from the
ordinary.

© 2013 Larry Ingram