A poem: "Why are the only options getting my hands caught in the door or the door hitting me in the face?"

This piece inspired by a very smart friend who had a shitty thing happen.

A poem: Why are the only options getting my hands caught in the door or the door hitting me in the face?

When a door slams in your face, are you expecting it?
Can you dodge?
How will you react?
But, more broadly --
more important
-- what do you do next?

See, it isn’t really the event.
It’s what you do with it.
Right?

There’s a vacuum in an opera house.
Mimicking what’s in your head.

But…
Then…
It’s like…
It’s like…
It’s like…
Imagine trying to use Maps.
But it’s turned off.
And you don’t know who Rand or McNally are.

The Bismarck sank because there was no rudder.

But, see, there’s a funny thing.

Storms end.
Suns rise.
Stormtroopers die.
Cookies bake.
The snow does melt,
And the grass does grow.

And you find that doors are doors.
They lead to canyons.
And petting tigers.
And pit bulls.
And Tiffany’s.
And BACON.

When a door slams in your face,
Open a Mountain Dew.

Authors Collection.  December 2022.
Author's Collection. December 2022.
A poem: "Why are the only options getting my hands caught in the door or the door hitting me in the face?"
Post Opinion