The Grand Canyon

surgical kindness.

that’s what i practice,

though to some, kindness is an endless supply of spitballs, ineffectual, annoying,

and i, the nuisance attached to the arm that keeps lobbing them.

damned if i can stop.

i think i’m done when some asshole in a pickup almost kills me on my morning run,

but that same afternoon the old guy from home depot lugs my christmas tree across the parking lot to load it carefully into my car. it’s not his job, but behind the light in his eyes is another infinite spitball stash, the soft persistent might that cuts stone.

of course, we’ve got no choice but carry on.