YoYo Weather (ZJG Isfahan Notebook)

Muggy days of last week

mid July

wore down everybody

in a giant pressure cooker.

Mr T not his usual self

his mind tossed into a

searing labyrinth

with lapses of his memory

stepping aside his promises.

The muggy atmosphere

downtown

has laid the active minds

into slumber.

Neither yesterday nor

today

business seems to run

as smoothly as it used to

at the Art Shop

abandoned by the staff’s

absence.

Yet Mr T today reaches into

his dressing gown’s pocket

and pays me the minimal

amount anticipated

complaining his mind not

working properly.

At times he amazes us

recalling details from his

youth

but forgetting what he did

a few minutes ago.

B has walked to Lower Wei’s

shopping area to buy some

groceries

indicating she would prep us

a delicious meal.

Now what’s the catch?

Tired from the day’s activities

I still feel fine

but sense the tit for tat

services from this competition

of one spouse for some

financial benefit to further

her fashion hunger.

After all she could never reach

her dream becoming a

professional model and

an independent fashion designer

creating her own brand.

She had great talent but missed out

to secure pecuniary support.

Is she competing besides some

common survival

with my own creative output

in the arts?

In spite of what she calls

Mental coitus interruptus

I have also not yet collapsed

From oscillating heat and cold

B calls: Yo-Yo weather.

Yo-Yo.oY-oY

 

zoltanzelan

©ZJG-POetry’17.

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