Grateful when love arrives

In little packets

Both received and sent.

Hard to see them sometimes

With all the noise

And craving for more.

Mr. Fred Rogers

He’s all the rage these days

In a place of desperation

Where tiny text bites

Try hard to count as love.

Back in the old “neighborhood”

Kindness delivered

In his every out breath

And received in hunger

When hunger

An accepted state

And vulnerability

Soft, tender, open

Could find refuge

In every day miracles

Those little pieces of love.

Genuine, that’s me.

An abject failure at all else.

Tried to sell my soul once.

Thought I sold it to the man.

But he conned me into buying it back.

The price was steep.

They say you pay now, or you pay later.

And the installment plan on that balance

It seems never ending.

My wager is that

This label I’m stuck with

Will finally stick.

And one day

Status quo and I,

We’ll have a good laugh

At our failed attempts

To be anything less than real.