cerebral

s/he lives inside his/her head,

now that the world has beat him/her

down---

with its foot on his/her throat

only a few seconds away from

crushing his/her windpipe &

leaving him/her for dead,

it eased up for a second,

as if only to remind him/her

that at any time this can happen

again,

at any time it can all come crashing

so one better stay in

check---

one better be a good little

doggy.

 

s/he quietly considers this

present moment of relative peace,

understanding the genuine

brevity

with which it came &

with which it can flutter away

at whim.

 

taking the glass-half-full route,

s/he sees it all as

something to be looked upon

with a thankful eye,

but then the glass-half-empty

pops up on the other shoulder

like some cartoon “devil”

battling the cartoon “angel”

in a fight for the conscience of

the character in question &

s/he realizes then that the

same people round him/her

for whom s/he might thank

are those same individuals who

came so close to

cutting off his/her air

only moments ago.