By John Dorroh

For those of you who can see through the fog

to the other side of the river; to those of you who

dance until 3 in the morning and never sit down;

to those of you who have a secret contract with God

to minimize your distractions, your general life hassles,

your assurance that one day you will live in some palace

with gold porch columns and beds made of clouds,

I salute you and curse you simultaneously, wishing you

no physical harm; I’m just passing through.


To those of you who gutted your plans to become someone

you didn’t expect, like planting the eyes of a potato

and getting green beans; like starting out for a road trip

to Colorado and bedding down in Waterloo, Illinois;

like expecting a check in the mail and getting a notice

from the IRS that you will be audited, I wallow in your

shared expressions of awe and bewilderment, reaching out

to you to say that we have all been around, up, and in the poop

shoots of life.


Our individual positions in life are mere pin points on an

infinite spectrum whose color field stretches from the center

of the sun, all the way to Uranus, and out into spaces unknown.


So to those of you who think you’ve got it all figured out,

I say good luck with that, and I sincerely hope that you end

up being more on spot than most of us poor suckers

who deal with the cards that are dealt to our hands.

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