Overthunk

I just walked away from the television set, where a commercial for SomeHobbitTown sausage had created a quaint vision, that I was to enter on a silver strand of hickory smoke. Within it, I traveled to a well-appointed kitchen with a wall-sized chalkboard, where a master sausagesmith neatly prints  onion garlic jalapeno on a black chalkboard in pristine white chalk, alongside a folksy drawing of the finished product, gleaming handsomely beside some tasty rice and healthy carrots upon some apron-clad, grandmother-cooked plate. In this kitchen, benevolent sausage recipe stewards impart a time-honored, lovingly curated mix of ingredients into kindly exterminated fleshbits in a large copper bowl, with a wooden spoon.  I am meant to believe that, as I, in my own scullery, slide the simultaneously phallic/scatalogical meatstuff from its plastic sleeve, that some earnest culinary artist has delivered it into my lucky hands. I am not meant to think of the fact that OGJ/MS...

   I've never been a mother In the societally accepted manner. And yet,  I've born lots of things, borne others, Taking in seed, growing, passing it out and unto Acting as surrogate when others faltered Cooperatively shaping smooth new marble into model citizens Nuzzled even animals through their whole life cycle Earth goddess written on even my deceptive flesh Too abundant and myriad, ugly, nurturing, not sleek, yet providing Sustenance of hungry souls. ----------------------------------------------------- "Hush now baby, baby, don't you cry." - Pink Floyd

The drive-up ATM line is a clusterfuck as usual, here in this sudden population boom suburb, so I pull around to the front. The drive through lanes all having proudly displayed in red how closed they were, I figured the inside was, too, so I swiped the ATM card through the spy slit in the side of the brass-framed glass to reach the lobby ATM, to make my deposit of half the rent I was owed, finally received. I waited to hear the click of the spy slot rendering my security clearance valid. I didn't but I still yanked at the thick handle and wide it swung, some greeter cheerily saying, "Hello!" as I, within milliseconds, felt foolish to have done the thing you do when the bank is closed, when the bank was clearly open.  Chuckling very small to myself, at myself, I approached the kiosk where the tethered pens, one always missing, somehow, exposing some hole in writing utensil security because all their eyes are on the money. Signing neatly (for once) and dutifully writing ...