"Crunching Numbers"

All the monthly numbers line up as pretty as can be.   
Adding and subtracting, calculating effortlessly.   
Projecting into the future, making a studied plan.     
Predicting misadventures—like when the shit hits the fan.     
The broken pipe that floods the house, and then the leaking roof     
join up with the shredded tire, and united stand in proof     
that budgets act as guidelines, and can’t always be obeyed.     
The surprising ups and downs of Life just get in the way.   

Copyright 2012 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

"Defeated"

 Whenever our world takes a dive into nastiness, my optimistic nature turns mulish. I pep talk myself into believing things will improve since I cannot imagine anyone would plunge our society into darkness. Who chooses politicians spewing hateful philosophies over ones espousing tolerance? Who supports dogmas that foster divisiveness over creeds that call for unity? Who supports a legal system that demoralizes the victim and worships the criminal?  Who willingly supports doctrines that leave citizens battered, bloodied and dead?

     My logical brain cannot comprehend that other people foolishly make decisions based upon emotional rhetoric instead of factual evidence. When I hear these people speak about their “gut feelings” that guide their judgments, my own stomach twists into knots. They add into the mix the prejudices of their religions, biases of their socio-economic class, and abhorrence to all that appears different from themselves, and end up with infectious hatred. 

  Applying heat to this festering hostility will bring things to a head. But can we withstand  this first step in treatment?

  I long to lance these boils, push out the pus that poisons and destroys, and slather on purifying, healing balms. In my optimism, I envision scenarios of miraculously curing our diseased nation. Yet, I fear that the contagion runs too deep, and all I feel is defeated.

Copyright 2016 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman