F- Bomb

Bitch—and I call you “Bitch” with affection, ya dig?

Let me tell you this—this bit of wisdom—

when you reach fifty-two years old

you will have seen, heard, and experienced enough

things to make you drop an F-bomb before 9AM,

maybe earlier than that, depending on what it is. I swear,

ever since Watergate, I can spit nails, and I was just

a youngin’ then—so imagine what I must spit now since

9/11, right? Don’t get me started on that noise—I swear

my head can just about pop off my body sometimes—I’m

sorry to say, it hasn’t gotten better. I’m sorry for you cuz

shit is fucked up and stuff, so by the time you’re

fifty-two years old, I can’t imagine—I’ll be long gone by then,

moved on to my next thing—while you are stuck here with the

mess of life, such as it is. Let me warn you, you are more vulnerable

as you get older—it isn’t just age or illness that takes you out,

it’s the young who unwittingly come in and take from you

everything you’ve worked so hard for all your adult life—

twenty-five or thirty years of experience—service—

easily undermined by someone so new they squeak when

you run your finger down ‘em—not that I’m complaining or anything,

Bitch—I’ll tell you now, I’d rather die with my boots on than sitting

behind a desk being a ‘point n’ click’ despot with nothing

better to do than shrug their shoulders, roll their eyes,

crinkle up their nose, make excuses, and become argumentative

when they can’t answer a fucking question. My question.

It’s maddening. One word—Lazy. That’s it, that’s the ticket.

Fuck it anyway—it’s not important. I’ve worked hard all my life—

I have kicked ass as a one-woman army—and I have lived a good one

in spite of the downs that can outnumber the ups on any given day.

Life is precarious enough, so, fuck people like that—they are negligible

debris in the grand scheme of things. Seriously. It doesn’t matter.

Don’t dwell on the negative—grab onto the positive and hold on tight.

In my fifty-two years, I’ve known that what matters is

my corner of the world, my family, and my home are my wealth.

Bitch, I do hope you can have a place to call home—

a patch of the world of your own—your own mind.

Know thyself—as they say—ya dig?

From one bitch to another, be good to yourself.

Be strong. Be yourself. Love and love hard—yourself,

your family, your home. Be at peace.

Drop an F-bomb as needed so your head

doesn’t pop off your body—trust me on this—no one will

show up to wash your mouth out with soap.

 

F-Bomb, LJWR 8/1/2014