In Which I Guess I'm Progressing Nicely

I'm in the anger phase again, I guess.
That phase where I just want to tear my hair,
Lash out and tell the world to f*ck off. Yes,
I'm mad I've lost another friend, don't care
If I hurt feelings, even if it's one
Who lost him, too. How lucky, then, that I
Share space with no such person. Ah, such fun
To cry within a cubicle. Nearby?
Banality and pointlessness all reign.
I'm trapped amongst it, teeth grinding in rage
For one more hour, then home to nurse my pain
In silence and in solitude. This age
Of distant loves and close connections brings
Sublimity, but also horrid things.

In Which A Customer Is Lost

Turns out I could have spent the day else-how.

Instead I got up, emptied out this fridge

That lows and mutters like a dying cow,

And waited for the new one. Now a bridge

'Twixt me and an old corporation's burnt:

'Twas dented in the box, that thing I bought,

And it's deliv'ry cancelled -- which I learnt

Long after, after waiting, as I ought

Per my last message from them. When I called

Long past the window, as meat thawed and leaked

And other things got messy, first they stalled,

Then finally admitted that my pique

Was justified. Now, back to the first square

I must prepare to seek a fridge elsewhere.

In Which I Wish Atlantis FSM Speed (And Pay No Attention To The Tears)

Few things on earth excite me like a launch
Of big tin cans of people into space.
And often many tissues, for to staunch
My tears are needed; I screw up my face
And cry in pride and awe (and jealousy).
Today's was diff'rent, though; there's only two
More shuttle missions left, then we will be
A-paying fares to Russia. I am blue
E'en as I wonder with dear IsoBan
How can the generation who first tried
Not join me in deploring this odd con,
This bait-and-switch. Manned space travel has died
In my homeland, and with it my pastime:
"Winos For Souyeuz" won't be fun to rhyme.

In Which A Remedy Is Very Strongly Suggested

A fit of rage can happen in a snap,

When someone says the wrong thing, when a look

Makes you feel dumb or small, when all the crap

A day might offer happens, when you cook

As though the lid's too tight and pressure's built

Beyond what you can take, when you're about

To scream and yell, or tear your hair from guilt

Or a misunderstanding, when the shout

You need so to release cannot be heard,

When tears could come but shouldn't, when a cry

Would only make thinks worse, when vision's blurred

By angry tears or just exhaustion, I

Am there with you; Remember and take heart

It doesn't mean a thing that we're apart.

In Which I Don't Even Try To Dress It Up - I'm Angry And I'm Hurting

A week has passed; my tears have mostly dried

But I am far from healed; I'm angry still.

Still can't quite grasp that Mac Tonnies has died,

Keep watching for him, wond'ring what he will

Dig up for us next. Anger chokes my throat

Each time I look and find him gone again.

Did people in his call center e'er note

Just how remarkable he was? But then

How well do I know my work-mates? Something

Has got to change, to stop, has got to give.

That wondrous Mac went unmissed three days? Bring

Me tissues, please; I'm crying more. We live

In heartless times when how someone's first missed

Is by a distant friend he's never kissed.

In Which Further Rage Is Vented

Construction as you know has quite f'd up

The only way out of my neighborhood

Into the rest of Cheyenne. Now I sup

On still more rage, though I know I'm as good

For blaming as the red and white Ford truck

That just plowed into Deep Blue's back tire when

I dared to cross the street where he was stuck

A-waiting his next chance to join again

The greater stream of traffic. I did think

He'd waved me on across like a good guy

But then he lurched. I stopped just on the brink

Of getting fully hit -- don't want to die

Just when things in my life are looking well

But how I wish that driver were in hell.

In Which I Am Chastened By A Scene At A Fast Food Joint

How old is he, the man we saw at noon,

A whisk broom and a dustpan in his hands,

A cannula connecting his nose to

A backpack tank of oxygen? He stands

Just slightly stooped, a hard-working rebuke

To how we haven't cared well for those folk

Who've toiled their lives away, then by some fluke

Of fate that's really more a bitter joke,

Though well-advanced in years, still find they're stuck

With no recourse but to take on such work

In fast-food clean-up, just to make the buck

Or two he needs to stay alive. The smirk

His supervisor gave us while this wage

Slave shuffled past still calls up rage.

Iran: Another Lump Sticking In My Throat

The nation I first learned to hate, at nine
Years old, when hostages were what I cared
About, is now in turmoil, with no sign
Of normalcy returning soon. I'm scared
For all the people who just sought to change
Their leadership and exercise their rights,
Now being shot and beaten if in range
Of government enforcers. Will these fights
And demonstrations end at all well? I
Am pessimistic. Ahmadinejad
Himself a hostage-taker, could defy
My expectations or could run roughshod
O'er hopes and dreams, as seems to be his plan.
His next steps will prove much about the man.

In Case You're Wondering, I Don't Support The Death Penalty Either, But That's A Matter For Another Sonnet

I don't care who you are or what you've done,

You don't deserve a simulated death,

A thumbscrew, rack or shock. I am not one

Who cries for blood like some Lady MacBeth;

I'd rather not be screaming at a spot

On hands or conscience. Hurt me and I'll take

The right to hurt you back but I will not

Do so when you're tied down, or to a stake.

You'll stand and face me equally, and if

I can't even the odds myself I'll use

The justice system, slow but sure and stiff.

You get your say, I mine, but I refuse

To act like you, nor would I e'er respect

Such being done on my behalf unchecked.

In Which I Rant Not A Little About Wildfires And A Six-Legged Cause Thereof, Even Though I Dig Insects As A Whole

I feel for Santa Barb'ra as the fire,
It edges closer with the worst intent
(If fire may have intent, this one's is dire).
Someday that will be me and mine. Ill-spent
Has been the time and resources to fight
Dendroctonus - the pine beetle, whose spread
Across the Med Bow Forest came to light
When I was just a sprat. Now trees are dead
And ready to catch fire, and when they do
Encampment and my Saratoga both,
Baggs too and all the little spots are through.
The timber industry, whose normal growth
And work could have prevented this outcome
Were killed off long before. It's beyond dumb.

Sonnet Rant: Invasive Species And Their Careless Carriers

Swine Flu is not the only thing that's spread
By careless people doing careless things.
Five hundred thousand bats, we learn, are dead
From white-nose fungus. Silent are their wings,
And closed now are the caves from which they flew.
Meanwhile a pamphlet's making all the rounds
To lecture boaters never to pooh-pooh
That zebra and the quagga mussels' bounds
Will keep expanding, grow from lake to lake,
Its larvae hitching rides in boaters' tanks.
The fungus, too, may come in people's wake
As they tour caves around the country. Thanks.
Free Comic Book Day was my topic 'til
I read this news. And now I've gone all shrill.

Who Busted Out A Time Machine When I Wasn't Looking?

A baby down in Oz has died because
Her neighborhood was seething with disease --
Not AIDS, Ebola, swine flu -- I must pause,
And scream before I go on; pardon, please.
'Twas whooping cough that killed this little girl:
Preventable since 1925!
She was too young for shots herself, but (HURL)
The neighbor kids are why she's not alive.
Their parents were convinced that a vaccine
Would be much worse than death on needless scales,
And so this bug broke out again. "Obscene"
Is not a strong 'nough word for these sad tales.
Autism is a horror, yes it's true,
But vaccines do not cause it, K? Thank you.

A Module By Another Name... Is Still A Module

While I am one of those who'd gladly name
The third module of our dear ISS
Serenity (a Browncoat hath no shame)

I really do not share in the distress

Of those who watched an upstart named Colbert

Steal Joss' thunder and round up more votes.

I laugh instead, for during this affair

Ron Paul's folks also earned themselves some gloats

And stole Ken Rudin's presidential poll.

These "scandals" move me equally. They're meant

For fun, as are, say, psychic friends. How droll!

So go ahead and fuss, Browncoats, and vent.

Then think about how cool it all would be:

Serenity: The Lunar Colony!

In Which My Forehead Turns Bright Red, But Not From Alcohol, Tomato Splatter Or Exertion

Tomatoes were to be today's subject,
Since I just bought a ton. They're cooking down.
Meanwhile, I thought, it's time that I Tweetdecked
And what I learned there brought forth a big frown.
My Tweeps at NPR have just disclosed
A set of facts that made me slap my head:
Chris Dodd and our Obama, both exposed,
As having both spent time curled up in bed
With AIG! They're numbers one and two
Among the pols who gladly took a bribe --
I mean a contribution, of course, to
Their campaign funds. It's painful to describe.
Dodd made the loophole AIG then used
To pay its bonuses. I feel abused.