My big words desert me, and with them
my thoughts, forever truncated by
diversions shiny or even drab.
I don’t mind so much losing track
of why I came into the kitchen
or how to integrate a gaussian,
but there is still so much that needs saying
and I have to fall back on simple
everyday words.

Driving home alone
I find myself screaming obscenities
at inane radio hosts and other drivers
because they can’t hear me and
I have rage I need to express
somehow.

Perhaps that’s what needs saying.

(January 6, 2024: my birthday, Christmas Day in Russia, and the 3rd anniversary of the day democracy stumbled in the USA)