Sippy the coffee. Aaahh. I’m sitting here thinking how badly I need a ‘dye job’. Such a not professional term. None the less, my roots are BAD. Cobbler’s child; make good on everyone else and my roots go unattended. It’s not pretty. Hats and bandanas hide all kinds of bad hairness, and with my BIG birthday looming up ahead, I want these nasty little bits colored soon. Yes, I will make it happen even if I must trash the bathroom. I hate doing my own color.
Notice how my aging fast right before your eyes, expands my rambling on to these pages. That’s what getting older does, among many other quaint little issues.
THE ROOT OF THE ISSUE
Quaint little issues of ramble and dye
Of remembrances and what’s for breakfast
Sippy the coffee as the Sun fills the window
In the Winter light deceiving warmth.
Making issues that hold to the trite
and the slop of the dye in the bowl on the mirror
Is the reflection of me with long ago in my eyes
When the world suffers and war gives no answer
and the die is far from my hair, and the root
Of the issues is colored hot blood and blaze
And the only ramble is the jibberish of leaders
That have no skill in kindness and care.
Their light is out and the deceit of the seasons
reflects the die in the bowl of lives taken carelessly
Sitting here with my roots exposed
Hoping to cover the age of me away
In the ramble of this morning’s rise
With parts of the world a theatre of chaos
And the root of the issue covered up endlessly
For the power hungry money machine
That has not one once of quaint
I’ll cover my roots with 4N and a little 4/5
And hope that, the over there is not a part of
My over here in the cover up of my issue
That the root of my matter tho’ full of deceit
bares to some innocence I have yet to lose
And I will think globally and act locally
all over my head.