Wednesday, July 25, 2012

"La Vie N'est Pas Juste"

In which Donna Camilla waxes poetical, and channels Dr. Seuss.

I do not like your rules, O Lord;
I do not like this being bored;
I do not like having to wait
Till—who knows?—expiration date!

I do not mind that You're in charge,
But coul'n't You spill the schedule, Sarge?
If I were you, and You were me,
I'd tell You how things were to be!

You know I'm trying to be good,
To think—no faster than I should;
But every time I'm batting straight
Some knuckleballer finds my plate.

They all deserve a chance at bat;
They swing—strike out—I'm this and that.
I hit a fly—I'm tagged—I'm out,
And not supposed to care a doubt.

I figure I'm too fragile and
It's not their fault: I understand.
I keep a guard around my heart,
Deploy good sense at nonsense' start.

I keep a guard about my eye,
To meet what comes with honesty;
I keep a guard within my mind
To judge and render as I find.

Then—all but equilibriate—
I catch his glance—I turn—too late!
I know there's not a chance of that:
Because I'm thin, and he likes fat.

Because I'm dark, and he likes fair;
Because of how I talk, walk, wear;
Because he's a'ready got a girl;
Because his life's too fast a whirl.

I know him; know he isn't free;
I know it isn't meant to be;
But I'm a woman too, and know
That look, and what it meant, and so ...

What use are guards, however strong,
When they that look, look so, look long!

I do not like your rules, O Lord;
I like it less when they're ignored;
I like it least of all that I
Am sabotaged each time I try.

I know the end of my complaint.
Guess I'm just called to be a saint.
Said once the wise man—guy? jerk? wit?—
"Vie n'est pas juste.  Get over it!"

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