Wars, Warriors and Warbles

We fight these mini wars

Our haphazard lives
Like stale pastries
Haste filled
We brave these days like stealthy warriors
We wake up listening to the warbles
Of the radio,
The coffee maker and each other.
Before we know it
Another day closes
Like a curtain over the stages of our lives
Each intermission
Longer than the last
These indefinite performances continue
Improvised roles become memorized litany
Nothing's random
Nothing's new
And all that's left is
The aftertaste
Of the stale pastry
The taste of yesterday
Same as today
Same as it will be tomorrow

And the horror that it can't be washed away
And so the wars begin again after a night's escape that felt like the blink of an eye
The warriors march on
Mumbling In response to the consistently plaguing warble...


Written by Zaida Ruiz
in response to "Notes on a life forgotten"