John-Ward Leighton

WAYFARING STRANGER

I hate this time of year
the monotonous Xmas music depresses the hell out of me
if I catch that little drummer boy I’ll strangle the little shit
all the bogus religious bull roar
and the commercial crap that goes with it
as the December day rains on my face
and no matter where I am
its always seems to be wrong place

simple pleasures are all that sustain
while I commit internet suicide
and close my Facebook page
in a welter of trivia
and annoyance
in the time of communication overkill
and offers to buy yet another bogus virtual experience
at a discount

so like the tramps of old in a poor boy cowboy hat
and some sturdy walking boots
in the dusty clothes of a new disguise
its hand me down my walking stick
I’ll strike out on a new adventure, none too smart, none too wise
there is always something different
just beyond the next fork in the trail and over the next hill

and like Lot’s wife’s story I can’t look back
there was little joy there anyway so I’ll take up the slack
so not to worry cause all the young faces
have morphed into faces and faraway places
with too many miles on them
from too much worry and hurry
and one should not put too much weight in all the information overkill
and equate our survival with any particular skill

mostly it’s dumb luck and the laws of chance run amuck
so can’t really complain
I’m still standing
a wandering slightly damp old fart bush ranger
and except for my SAD
I’m feeling no pain, yet another soft landing and its not so bad
as the rain drips off my hat and beauteous Emmy Lou sings
Wayfaring Stranger