January 14, 2018
I sat in a Togos, eating my chicken wrap,
While two teenage coeds had mouths in hyper-flap.
One rattled on and on, impossible to miss.
She led us on a trip, into her heart’s abyss.
“My dad will not listen, his rules unbendable.
Mom can’t relate to me; my life’s unbearable.”
A teacher made the list, a “moron” he must be.
Her boss so ungrateful, for a worker like “she.”
Her burger getting cold, French fries no longer hot,
Scorn and disdain her lunch, everyone she knew, shot.
Out of what’s in the heart came words she did mutter.
With reputations killed, lying in the gutter.
No advice did she seek, no feedback in return?
On and on, gaining steam, words on high-octane burn.
She actually believed, of course, she knew better.
No humility heard, not a word, nor letter.
“Their throats are open graves; their tongues practice deceit.
The poison of vipers is on their lips and teeth.
Their mouths, full of cursing, and angry bitterness.”
Thus says the grand old book, a book she must have missed.