Slow Boil

Here I am, and there you are. And,

let’s face it, no one really gives a damn.

Trade places and who would notice

anyway? With or without you and me,

life would pretty much go on the same.

Most days are like tofu, tasteless filler

in its raw and unembellished state. We

are like those live crabs in a pot of water

brought slowly to a boil. The killing heat

comes incrementally in degrees, and

before they know it, they’re cooked. Why,

just the other day, I got to thinking about

my grandkids, two of whom are just a

year or so away from college graduation.

Somewhere along the way their inch by

inch progression took place as my attention

was preoccupied looking the other way.

And before you know it, I got to thinking,

marriages more than likely, then babies on

the way. Good Lord, I could become a great

grandfather should I withstand the growing

vicissitudes of old age. (I can relate to those

poor damned crabs—once netted, they never

stood a chance anyway.)

Of course, there’s always the possibility of that

illustrious great-grandfather degree being

bestowed upon me posthumously.

 

Chris Hanch 8-23-18