THE WUSS, THE WIMP, AND THE SHETLAND PONY

When exasperation clatters in on a black stallion,

Tonsils vibrating with inflammatory accusations,

Calling me a wuss, a wimp, a whinge,

Empathy gallops to my defence on a white Shetland pony,

Waving a tiny gauntlet.

Exasperation rolls his eyes,

Whirls his horse around, gives the poor thing an almighty kick,

And races off into the forest.

Whereupon Empathy jumps off the pony and pats me on the back, there-there style.

I hear there’s a movie in the works.

Jokes aside,

When fatigue catapults me horizontal,

And I fret about plans slipping over the horizon,

About fun giggling without me,

I feel bad, not for me,

Not really.

Mostly I feel bad

For him.

Self-preservation has muted my emotional palette,

Diluted my possibilities.

So, I escape to other lifescapes,

Paint them pink

And dare to hope.

Of course,

I take the Shetland pony, too.

BUY SOME HAY FOR THE SHETLAND PONY? AND A COFFEE FOR ME! AND WHY NOT GET THE BOOK, TOO?!