Tyrants

My vision gets blurry. I find and wear my bifocals. My vision remains blurry. I clean the lenses with alcohol wipes. Everything I see blurs.

I am surrounded by teenagers. They walk past without a glance. Some skateboard and stop suddenly at the corner, flip their skateboard up into their hands. They somehow do this with their shoes. They giggle while hanging out in front of Taco Bell, they bite into their tacos and let the hot sauce drip down on to the sidewalk.

I have a niece. She scowls. She looks at her phone more than she ever looks at me. I imagine myself giving her advice. I want to tell her, people my age, we resent youth, are angered by the young. All the things we could have done if only we had known. Start jogging now, don’t wait, those five extra pounds you think will go away fast if you take the stairs instead of the elevator will double up quick before you notice them again. And the kids take so many pictures, so photogenic, any angle is flattering. Well, those pictures will haunt later, they will drag down each soul and capture the reasons why grandparents and uncles smile tight-lipped while nieces flash their wide teeth, why the old feel nauseous and will need to sit down. We ask to fetch us water but really want to scream, do things, do the things now to become rich and have all the things which can’t be asked for, most of the things we want out of this life. I tend to slightly move before the camera clicks and I blur unrecognizably.

The kids are as tyrannical as the rich. The rich with their brand new molars and exercise machines beaming in their solars, their bites are so strong but the kids are less paranoid.

I saw a tyrant eating yogurt at Menchies today and I thought to myself, from my cold dead fingers. Then I saw another tyrant driving a Saab on the 101 and I whispered towards her, 2nd Amendment, 2nd Amendment. Then I saw a group of tyrants playing soccer over at Amelia Earhart park and I just shook my head at them, oh you silly little tyrants, oh no you don’t! And then the tyrant at the bank had a sesame seed stuck to his upper tooth, his blinding tooth so shiny and perfect, had a spot of black, residue from a muffin or a bagel, and I focused on that and I laughed.

My weekly medication organizer tray announces in bold lettering for me to enjoy life one day at a time. Each day of the week is segmented into quadrants. In the morning I take an oval grainy pill along with a round pink pill, at noon, a small white pill with another that has a groove through the middle, in the evening, a chalky white pill and a round light blue one. Bedtime is for the horse pill, or at least used to be, when the easier to swallow, smaller capsule was prescribed, I got them confused for a week, so I took twice the dosage. The next few mornings my feces was yellowish and bland with white fatty lumps for texture, the only consequence being that I stared at my excrement longer and lonelier than usual. The bathroom buzzed and the toilet water was cold and the heat lamp overhead warmed my neck and my ears. And I felt keenly my helplessness until I figured things out and everything returned to this current semblance of normal expediency.

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About Rumrazor

Just a malcontent surviving in Los Angeles, working the news, writing the poetry, making the films.
This entry was posted in Lyrical Prose and tagged , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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