Alone was not my tragedy in July of '98.
Thoughts were free and passions raced 'til skies turned orange and late.
Solo was my much-loved fortune compared to groups and noise.
Journals, gel pens, silent rivers were all my favourite toys.
Solitude was just my thing when days were hot and long. Childish plights, they popped and hovered, cushioned by the wood pigeon's song.
Companionless but not forlorn was strange at 10 to be.
Asleep in tall grass with Goosebumps books was what let me be me.
Travelled light, we did us three. Just me, myself and I.
August, then, I turned eleven hearing September's distant cry.
New school, new faces, new shoes, new me.
Summer practice made it perfect to just let me be me.
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Michael Brennan
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Where's the Glory?
In breaking news, rehabilitated Republican Senator Johnnie Johnson (Pronouns: HE, HIM, HIS) called a press conference from the Men’s room of the New Orleans Louis Armstrong International Airport, Concourse B, across from the Ignatius Reilly’s Lucky Dog stand. The Senator had just returned from a sexual reorientation rehabilitation program in Memphis, TN after being publically disgraced at a Buckee’s Truckstop restroom soliciting sex from an undercover cop three months ago. He is a founding member of the Reformed Christians for Christ, a conservative, pro-family and ex-gay advocacy group. In the spirit of being reborn, Senator Johnson invited reporters to marvel at his plans for a major remodeling of airport bathrooms.
By Cathy Schieffelin6 days ago in Humor
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