When patience ends and anger rules…is it the fault of arrogant fools, or the simple refusal to accept the fact that man is as stubborn as a mule?

An obstinate ass going his own way in spite of our best wishes, he may prefer plain old finger food instead of elegant dishes. His mind is set on his own goals – but who’s to say he’s wrong? It may be that the lyrics he hears are those to a different song.

His feet dance to a unique beat; his rhythms advance and then retreat, syncopated to a singular accent. His arias require neither conductor nor assent.

A disturbing thought starts to intrude, insinuating itself slyly into this self-absorbed mood. Is there a possibility…Mercy Snakes, can it be...? No way on earth that old mule could be me!

© Thurman P. Woodfork 6/18/2009