Better Than Me
Mother's birthday
and it was pouring rain.
I dashed about the puddles,
bouquet and gift-wrap in hand.
Barefoot and bored I sat behind the desk
typing the employee safety checklist.
The personal phone buzzes,
"You'll never do better than me."
I filed and filed and filed that shit away,
put my ego through the shredder.
I suppressed those foul emotions
like a nasty fart, deep within me.
Driving home on the interstate,
raining harder than ever,
traffic grinding to a halt;
an SUV flipped over, obliterated.
When I arrived at mother's
the Sun came out and we drank coffee,
exchanged kisses and gifts and hand-written cards.
Afterward, I went home and ate a wonderful roast.
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