#216. or, The Conundrum (a poem)

  Contrary to popular opinion, this blog is still active. It might be on life support, with one foot in the grave, but active nonetheless.

  Anyways, I keep it around because I need to put the thoughts in my head somewhere. At least until they all go into my book and I can retire to my tropical island living off the proceeds as a billionaire playboy philanthropist. OK, fine. Old man philanthropist.

  Currently, I have a lot of shit broken down. It does not matter when you read this, that statement will still apply. 

  Seems inspiration strikes me when I'm armpit deep in something. Be it a cow or a combine. 

  This was from the latter. If you need me, I'll be over here fixing something. 

The Conundrum

 I wonder if a welder might,

when he lifts his stinger from the arc,

find he's overrun by cattle

and a dog that likes to bark?

Or how often does a mechanic

when he turns to grab a wrench,

find himself entangled

in a half a mile of fence?

Or maybe there's a plumber,

while he's snaking out a drain,

might suddenly be in the way

of a combine load of grain.

It must happen all the time,

these things that cause alarm?

Because I always find, I'm in the shop,

when I'm trying to fucking farm!

 ...........my bloggy skills are really rusty. I'm pretty pleased with myself that I put the poem title in bold print right now.