I dedicate this poem to anyone I’ve ever spoken to.
You’ve Got a Problem, But You Don’t Want a Solution
I may not be the best conversationalist
But I am a problem-solving specialist.
If you’re telling me about a problem for the sake of telling me about a problem – your point will be missed.
I’m sorry to state that’s just the way it is.
Problems and solutions go together like this and that and that and this.
And yet, here you are telling me all about what’s got you in a tizz.
You’re not respected at work,
Your girlfriend is a jerk,
You’re in shock, you can’t believe it, someone stole your lunch,
Your friend lied, you think, but it’s just a hunch,
Your dad won’t see a doctor about, well, whatever it is, nobody knows, because he won’t see a doctor,
Your test grade was low because you had a racist proctor,
Your friend isn’t returning your calls,
Your neighbor upstairs is, apparently, learning to dribble approximately two dozen basketballs,
Your cat is acting crazy,
Your husband’s far too lazy,
Your employees are for too inefficient,
Your boyfriend saw his ex and is now rather reminiscent,
Your wife is constantly on the phone,
Your dog buried your watch and brought you his bone,
Your ex keeps calling you,
Your child can’t possibly be your child with that attitude and, if you could call that a hairdo, that hairdo,
Your mother’s nagging is an art form,
Your roommate is living like he’s still living in a dorm.
Phew. Finally, you have to pause to catch your breath,
Thankfully, too, because my ears were almost listened to death.
I clear my throat with dignity,
I prepare my eloquent solution, so full of humor and wit and grace and elegance and fluidity.
“Thanks,” you cut me off before I can start with my brilliant solution,
“I just wanted to vent,” you say with such finality that that sentence itself becomes the resolution.
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