Somedays I rise like a monk,
barefoot, benign
& still get gutpunched by a cold kettle,
no sugar,
no spoons,
no ******* coffee
just the bitter truth of unplanned idiocy.

That’s the prelude.

Then comes the uninvited opera
the ogre in a hatchback
slithering through lanes he didn’t earn,
gargling ego, honking for clearance
like his tardiness
was my crucifix to bear.

The shop-witch counts coins
copper by copper,
dragging eternity across the till
while I rot behind her,
watching her smirk at the math
like she's curing cancer.

I light a smoke
wind turns assassin.
My sandwich?
Now a Sahara-dusted tragedy.
A mouthful of grit.
Sky ****** spite.
I take a drag—wet ash,
storm on my lips.

There’s always
something.

A misfired message
“you up?”
No, ****, I’m spiraling.
A call about their cat's vomiting,
as if I’m the feline whisperer.
And why is it
that the needy
find me when I need
no one?

Some ***** unclips their door
into my car,
nods like they did me a favour
like my paintwork
was begging for a scratch.
No apology. Just audacity.

And then
relationships, appointments,
all these temporal collisions
some can’t ******,
some can’t stop.
It’s always
either waiting,
or sprinting to keep up
while someone else
finishes without you,
wipes off their guilt
& says,
“ready to go again?”

Somedays…
it’s more days than not.

The inconsiderate breed like roaches
everywhere,
invisible
until they nibble at the nerves.
Each one
a subtle saboteur of serenity
a Harry,
a Sally,
a gnat in the gut of grace.

And I
I dream of vaporizing silence,
a death-ray of solitude
or **** it,
just vanishing,
****,
if that’s what it takes
to bypass this
imposed ritual of irritation.

I pray:
“Lord, get me through this day.”
But perhaps
I should say:
“Lord, muzzle the world.
And let me sip
my ******* coffee
in peace.”

Somedays,
I just want calm.
But somedays…
are all days
in drag.