Today's prompt is to write an angry poem. But, this morning -- a beautiful Sunday morning at the beach -- I find nothing to be angry about. I can't even dredge up the anger I felt at work last week when -- no, I won't get into that either. It's Sunday, a day off, with an opera to see this afternoon and dinner with friends later on. No need to even think about being angry today or any day.
So, here's my angry poem:
Sure, there’s plenty to rant about:
The drivers who roll through stop signs
and almost knock me down as I pass,
the dog debris left for others
to sweep away from the path,
a guy’s hairs falling on the ground
as he gets a haircut
in an outside salon with an ocean view.
But, not today. It’s much too glorious:
the deep blue ocean crowded with surfers,
the Santa Monica mountains
rimmed slightly in LA’s golden haze,
the row of fishing poles
resting along the edge of the pier,
babies in strollers,
joggers easily passing me by,
jet streams dissipating slowly
like clouds in the sky
No, this is not an angry day.
The only hint of anger I can find
is having to trudge
up the Manhattan Beach Boulevard hill
toward home so
I can sit at my computer
and write this angry poem.