Oh-Oh

By John Norris

At times, something is coming at you so fast that there is no time to get out of the way. There is only enough time to bend over, grab your ankles, and kiss your tail goodbye, saying, Oh-oh.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Apr 20, 2018
• ISBN: 9781984513427

John Norris

John Norris is a freelance military historian who writes regular monthly columns for several specialist titles, ranging from vehicle profiles to reenactment events. He has written fifteen books on various military historical subjects, most recently Fix Bayonets! (due to be published by Pen & Sword).

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Copyright © 2018 by John Norris.

ISBN:                  Softcover                              978-1-9845-1343-4

                           eBook                                    978-1-9845-1342-7

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Rev. date: 03/14/2018

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The hardest pill that there is to swallow,

Is the self made pig pen in which we wallow.

We are so busy keeping others out, we do not see

That we are the chief reason that we cannot become free.

If a time or two, life may greet us with a bitch slap,

We close up and wallow in own made puddle of crap.

Because it is warm, we know it and it is mine.

We turn away from the world, cruel world and pretend that we are blind.

We are not blind, just scared, but that suits us just fine.

Afraid of being hurt, over time just becomes being afraid.

So, we congratulate ourselves on the prison we have made.

We built it strong and built it stout

And, now we can keep all the other people out.

But that also keeps us locked in.

We sit and sing our lonely song, while the world flows by.

Nobody comes in, nobody stops, sometimes we wonder why.

Our wings might as well be clipped, because we never try to fly.

The saddest part is, our side of the door to the cage is open wide.

It is our mind that keeps us locked inside.

One day when all the hurting stopped, I went outside to see,

If the world had still gone on, even when I wasn’t me.

A cloud looked down and gave a wink.

Even the sun smiled down, I think.

The wind in the tree, whistled, Welcome back to you.

The flowers whispered and gave a nod or two.

But, then I thought of when I hurt.

The flowers cried and hid inside the dirt.

The cloud covered the sun, which had started to cry.

Even the trees, didn’t have a dry eye.

The wind rose up in my minds attack.

It gave me a hug and said, Come back!

We are not what we look at, but we are what we see.

Our mind is the worst cage, in wanting to be free.

If it is true we are, what we eat.

Do you salt it with tears, when you want something sweet?

Twas the day after Christmas and all through the house,

Not a creature was stirring, all dead drunk and soused.

The stockings had falled round the ankles of Aunt Clare

And I don’t know how she could sleep, hanging from the chandelier there.

While Ma in her leather bra and Pa in his wet suit

Had passed out on the carpet after taking their last toot.

When what to my watering eyes should appear,

But some bum in a red suit mumbling under a chair,

Whoa, Lola, you dancer, Madonna you vixen,

He said, hugging someone who looked like Pat Nixon.

When out on the lawn, there arose such a clatter,

I tripped over Grandma, going to see what was the matter.

Uncle Buck was stark naked and riding a reindeer,

As he was chugging the remains of a warm beer.

The kids were skateboarding, those that were not too whoozy

And Tiny Tim looked like he was sighting in his new Uzi

At the neighbors with torches and pitchforks who gathered

At the top of our driveway, where our empties were scattered.

The click of a rifle bolt, told Grandma had woken

And the children all scattered as a signal was spoken.

As I headed out the back door, I was a bumming.

I could tell by the sirens, that the cops were a coming.

And as the mace hit me, I said with a tear,

"I’m glad Christmas comes only once every year.

Somebody to be naked with,

Without any pretences or pants.

Somebody to be mated with our trust

Against the contrary dice rolls of destiny or chance.

Some player, who is perfect to our tune,

Who understands our movements in the dance.

A pitcher full of the water of life,

Our cup to fill and our life enhance.

A kiss to wake the dreamer from his trance,

Without any need to hide inside,

A role or game or any other pretence.

Somebody to be naked with.

A kiss to wake the dreamer from this trance.

The city smells of exhaust and fast food.

The sun frowns down in a very bad mood.

A road crew’s jackhammer ratchets us awake.

I spill hot coffee on my hand and drop my coffee cake.

So, I just settle for the coffee, bitter and black.

Try to say a few prayers to repel morning’s attack.

Force yourself to move. There is money to make.

There are bills to pay.

It is, just another work day.

Hope for a shot at redemption, when you pray.

Hope for forgiveness from this relentless sun.

Hope for enough strength, to make another run.

I stumble, a prizefrighter, who has seen too many rounds.

I cannot