Bemusement

In a sloppy slough of
self-abnegation and
despond,
no doubt conspired
by some
rabid variant of
narcissism,

I was regaling
my Beloved
with a recitation
of the myriad
means and manners
of my slippery
sloth and crafty
procrastination,

comparing my Self,
disfavorably,
to my industrious
manly neighbors,
flashing their tools
and implements of
homey improvements.

She reminded me
that my constant
comparisons
have their roots in
junior high school
behavior,
and I wound down
my self-involved
mumblings,
with apologies.

This morning
I watched my skillful
neighbor
drive away for his
morning coffee,

and wondered
what demons of
self-doubt
assault him,
or harass the friendly
craftsman
across the street?

Perhaps I could
invite them,
in a manner
I have yet to
devise,

to take a plunge
with me
into the bottomless
ocean of
exuberant Love
we forget that
surrounds us, and

drowns
our foolish
comparings
in waves of
bemusement.

(Photo by Alevision-co; UnSplash)