Born

We were born to offer each other our own plates of suffering wounds. No poultice will do. Crying is out. Marriage also out- each with our own insecurities and stubbornness - two mules going down the same narrow path. Money weighs heavily like bricks in your jean pockets so you must throw it in the air and see where it lands. Your home looks like Circus Vargas equipped with a pretty girl spinning plates, clowns making balloon animals, and two acrobats teetering above on a thin wire without a net. I protest as loudly and as often as wailing babies prevalent in the bloody air of a local park in Peoria, Arizona.