poem

 Cruelest MonthI get the argument that April is the cruelest monthEvery spring it all comes storming backFlaunting it in our faces Bloom after f.ing bloomBut not for us.  Just one blossoming for the likes of us And the bulk of our petals have already fallen December is a different kind of suffering Carved out of modern time as a marketing scamDriven by quarterly Capitalist sales demandsDid I buy enough?Was I too selfish?Did I waste a year of life?Will I ruin Christmas?And how all that phony nostalgia and Auld Lang Syne Preys upon our sense of running out of time It ’s just winter, I tell myself Next month will be even colderSo many things are dying Even the snow wants to melt And the grass has given up on green I struggle just to stay warmDecember tries to trick us into thinking A mere flip of the calendar Cleans the slateA full factory reset, wherein,By some miracle, we all get another chance In thisbrand new year But we ought not fall for that It ’s just a long trek forward, unrefreshedOnly a year older, jankier, and wearierAt least April is honestShowing how the world replenishes Itself when we ’re gone,How it carries onJust fine without us December is the young vixen Whispering libidinous longings in your earWhen all she really wants is your moneyThe days now are so shortLate afternoon is darker than the cobwebbed crawlspaceIn the abandoned barracks of the skelet...

Source: Buckeye Surgeon - December 15, 2022 Category: Surgery Authors: Jeffrey Parks MD FACS Source Type: blogs