Not a Contender
I blew out the candle and stumbled on thru the dark. I whispered the pertinent questions–how long has this been going on? How long will it last?
I lay down on a bed of ice. I shook like a leaf and my teeth chattered, but I pretended that it didn’t matter. I reached out and something bit off my finger.
I pulled my knees up, rolled, and landed in the time-out box. I was in Quebec in a playoff hocky game, a bit nervous but no one seemed any the wiser. I’d have to fake it until the clock ran out.
It occurred to me I should take one more shot at true love. I pulled out my pistol and the arena emptied. I fought off an impulse to call home.
I’m maxed out in my wild attempts to communicate. I never could have been a contender, but persistence lingers long after hope dies.
Someone suggested I try perpetual motion and I sprang into action.
