Well…

Words are the mask of panic

when hastily muttered

to explained what looks insane.

 

Around me gather a collection of human oddities

who constantly wish to defined

their actions as other than completely mad.

 

The man with the dog leash, but no dog

told me his pet was hiding,

though been that way for two years,

then there was the woman

that wore a pink bed sheet

claimed it was to protect against alpha ways.

 

I don’t mind coping with those employees,

which dwell on the fringes of reality,

for at least you know they’ll always be

beyond the state of sane.

 

What worries me is the rock,

a boss who is suppose to be in charge,

known for his accomplishments

appears to be so easily to comprehend,

only one day he stops wearing pants

starts sucking lint off the carpet with his lips,

tells me he’s a prophet name, Maguza

with a warning we are all going to die

after a cosmic pillow strikes the earth next week.

 

Somehow in all their antics,

there comes that dreaded word, well…

it means they’ve lost it.

 

I’ve tried to decipher the gestures and groans

interpret each glance and smile,

only in they never follow a rule book

so it all becomes a guessing game,

always hoping I don’t find myself

among those using a plate to talk to Mars

while having to say well,

once I end those stares.