Little motor

The road seems endless
and I’m just a little motor
with an L plate slapped on:
You see, my name’s Carl and I’m still learning.

I’m learning how to handle
Earth’s intricacies, dichotomies,
and 7 billion oxymorons.

I’m learning that knowledge isn’t everything
and all that work that you put in
does not automatically mean you win,
unless of course you have an A star in shouting
then you my friend will go as far as the stars
because it’s he who shouts loudest
who makes the big wigs proudest.

I’m learning that I must be soft and attentive,
loving and sensitive
as long dead are the days when men were men.
I’m now allowed to let it all out,
open up,
it’s no longer healthy to keep my mouth shut.
But God forbid I fall ill
or dare get sick,
Man flu will be mocked and I’ll feel less of a bloke
as I’m told:
“Just take some drugs and man the fuck up.”

I’m learning that I can say you’re pretty
but not that she’s pretty,
unless you says she’s pretty
then I can say she’s pretty
but I mustn’t say she’s pretty too passionately
because that means I think she’s too pretty,
but then if I say she’s not pretty
when you think she is pretty
then I clearly think that you’re not pretty
because you think she’s more pretty than you.

I’m learning that if I’m the only one walking one way down a two-way street
I’m obliged to step into the road
and let the passersby go
ensuring that the thank yous and excuse mes remain strictly a one-way street.

I’m learning that the fast lanes are full
and they keep getting fuller,
with the beeps and the honks
and the backseat bonks,
yet there’s no indication of a slow lane emerging

and as I grow older
and more soft tops and sports models
shove me in to the hard shoulder
I’m learning it’s true that nice guys do finish last
but the truly great ones
are the ones that let you past.
So please, be my guest,
after you;
I gratefully accept my wooden spoon
because I like where I am
and I love my little motor;
the one with an L plate slapped on.

© Carl Burkitt 2013

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