Same Old Story

I woke up not sick
but worse -
discouraged.
Not quite the depressed black and white of George Bailey,
worth more dead than alive,
but somewhere near that jumping bridge,
tired of the same old house,
same old town,
same old dreams,
same old face in the mirror,
same old God.

I woke her up for school,
and the sun in her smile blinded me
like that old Damascus fool.
Hi, dad-o.
Hey, kid-o.


She combed her hair
with the same old comb,
in the same old mirror,
as I stood close brushing
the same old teeth,
in my same old head,
and tears like scales
fell from my eyes
at the technicolor mercies
in my same old life -
me, the richest man in Bedford Falls. 

9 comments:

  1. A little behind you in having my George Bailey moment. Still at the bar hoping my angel of mercy will show up. Sounds like yours showed up in the bathroom this morning. Nice.

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  2. we are rich beyond measure in the same old ...

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  3. n. davis,

    Thank you for always stopping to speak...

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  4. Mark,

    Later in the day I was back at the bar with you, praying for Clarence or some angelic something...the scales return when you're not looking.

    Would love to see you sometime!

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  5. S. Etole,

    'rich beyond measure'...yes, I like that very much!

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  6. I'm not sure how people without kids do it.

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  7. Pounce8:42 PM

    If the world were your Oyster?

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  8. technicolor mercies - that will stay with me. thank you for helping me to see.

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