I have made an occasional exercise of jotting down short poems – sometimes they arrive during my work day, some are delivered in the middle of my attempts to fall asleep at night, and some wake me up in the morning. It became customary for me to ignore these nagging little inconveniences, and I came to realize my unwelcome reception began staving them off altogether. At a time that I can only imagine (and hope to hell) is near the height of my mid-life crisis and I am increasingly craving the opportunity to flex a creative muscle, I’ve decided to invite them in, share them, and celebrate them (to the extent I can feign they’re worth preserving or disseminating). They are raw, unrefined, and live on pocket notes.  13+ years ago law school tried to beat it out of me entirely, so I am admittedly stale and uncultivated in my creative written expression. Maybe, in time, with patience and persistence that will change. For now, here is Backbone.

Where is my backbone

Searching for a way home

To a former self

In another life

I wonder why

I am furious

Triggered by everything and nothing at once

Then twice again

Shaking hot mad in silence

Sparked beneath the veil of darkness

By the politics du jour

And the timeless injustice at the ballot box

In the bedroom, the kitchen, and the yard

I bend against the weight of history

Where is my backbone

Still I find no way home

All former selves chewed up

By a rat-race to the cube-farm

I am furious

Bills to pay at the expense of dreams broken

Too much rage withheld to be spoken

It is Thursday back in the office

I am furious

Where is my backbone