Where is the humor in all of this

Broken heart screams, begs for something to pass the time when the ache subsides to a dull roar.
Where is the humor in all of this I wonder as I set cross-legged by the roadside inn serving me
up more tortured food – really can’t call it that but the neon sign promises it’s the best
in the valley where dolls roll over in dust of cream as a cheap frying pan is exhibited by the pest

Pest, I say! But no one listens to the mumbling of a dancing idiot with aging brown hair pulled back on the top
like a ragamuffin…now there’s a word or words not used often by men of character pretending to stand
for the rest of us lost souls chaffing against the corduroy of sweats with painful glee causing weeping
trees to bend over touching the ground as if the only stability promised is the soil from where it came

And came it went and came it did and came it said yes over and over again hoping against hope that the cloak
was not wrong; that the cloak was real and not just another graveyard prose of ‘I love you..I really do” because
the heart is fragile; long past due a giving gentle man or gentle woman with a smile because the other produces
a genuine lift, a genuine sense of being only resulting in a spontaneous desire to touch inside and out. To touch.

Longing is an action of immobility driven by empty desperation, but the sun streams a warmth that’s real like a
baby’s breath where the world is embraced by the smell of fresh, clean purity. Purity has long ago taken a ride
to wayside; a prison of sorts for it’s a belief it will be forever and forever is temporary accompanied by pain
and sorrow. Where is the humor in all of this I say with a knowing smile of survival; a key to open the floodgates

Where is the humor in all of this? I exclaim with conviction just to get me through to where the pain subsides and the
smile returns with yet another beginning, middle and end. It’s the endings that are a bitch but what a way to go. The
roadside inn will always be there serving up the gruel it calls food and charging a reasonable price…maybe that’s where
we find the humor in all of this; the roadside inn serving up gruel at a reasonable price with a neon sign promising the best

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About stevewhitmore

Former award-winning newspaperman and broadcast journalist, both radio and TV, spanning three decades. Army-trained paralegal, court bailiff and prosecutor's lead investigator for the 8th Infantry Division's Judge Advocate General's Corp., Mainz, Germany. 1973-1975.
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