You know her,
that woman,
who gets fixated on one thing.
She knows all about it.
Dogs, for instance,
she was caught
once
not picking up after him.
Now she recites the law
to every dog walker in town.
That woman even stopped me
once
scolded me on the law
for not picking up after him.
Peculiar as it was,
I picked up his droppings
before finishing to walk home
with my imaginary friend.

You've met him before,
that guy in the store,
the one who has cancer
and autoimmune disorder
and diabetes
and any other ailments
you're willing to listen to.
Be careful not to touch him.
He's contagious.
I shook his hand as I headed on my way
for chemotherapy
and a multitude of blood tests.

You remember him,
don't you?
The grade school bully
who either took your lunch money
or beat you up
or often times both.
That is until the little guy
is having a bad day
and pops him in the nose,
makes him cry for his mommy.
Now he's the sweetest kid in school
and I'm in detention
having never thrown a punch.

Perhaps they're right,
the experts, that is.
Maybe I should start living in reality.