Trying to stay away from the ambiguous they
is a most peculiar struggle.
They hoochie-coochie traffic gluts, ad lib problems,
invent street news smut, hatch and weave the tizzy,
dis the sense of humor, prevail injected rumor,
becoming fatty through presumption.
They dictate consequential details of life
as though crimes await their comitting.
They prevent efficiency’s extent
push to shove the capture,
prescribe what is watched and who is listened to,
iffy the nifty of goals accomplished.
They interpret faulty translations
when societies’ cultures are talking
and they are always and ever just talking.
If they can’t stand the heat of ingredients simmering
they’ll cook up a mess of snafu for me and for you
in every understocked kitchen.
It’s impossible to pin them down, whoever they are,
or presume themselves to wanna be.
Their antics aren’t funny a bit, loading salacious glitch
on the get ahead, around the next bend,
leaving success to lie in state dormant.
They decide what is or is not going to happen
or if you’ll be lucky and sit
in the seat you reserved through inquiry
at the appointed hour
right about when their distractions begin
and you can’t even get a cold glass of water
with a twist of lime.
Sorry, there is no lime, it’s hands on them,
they have found a way to remove it.
“AMBIGUOUS THEY” by: Patt ©2017
