Math Homework and More (A fun poem about a not-fun situation)

 Math Homework and More (A fun poem about a not-fun situation)

Take a day and homework multiplies

Add in your hours at work 

Subtract the hours you sleep

School, 7 hours times 5

Classes, 8 by 5 days

Allow me to ask you an equation

If a train of work is coming at 42 mph

And it decreases by one assignment a day

If I subtract a day

To how many minutes does the work add up?

15 minutes times 8 is two hours

I have not two hours to add to my day.

When will that train hit the wall?

The wall made of papers and papers past due?

To me I know not, the math is for you.

I have but twenty-four hours a day

School takes away eight

Take away sleep, there goes another seven

Now what to do?

I’ve got less now than eleven

9 hours to go, work takes away three

Only 6 hours, a couple I need free

4 hours to go, breakfast lunch and dinner

2 and a half hours won’t work

I need to try harder to make this thing work

I’ll add in some hours, somewhere, somehow

I’ll come out on top, and emerge as a winner.

But boy I should have done my math homework sooner

All together I made it through, but what a mess

Now all my other stuff, too, I guess

-Schrodinger's Katze

These I Have Loved

 These I have loved:

Late nights stretching into early mornings while out camping with friends

Fishing on a bridge with my friends, at a lake with my family

The smoky haze of a fire in the backyard

The sweet hickory smell coming from the smoker for the entire day

Coming home from practice and not seeing a Crockpot on the counter

Airsoft and water fights with my brothers in the backyard

The cool breeze of mountain air as I rush down the trail on a too-light bike

Biking on a gravel road for miles on end at sunrise in the warm summertime

Visiting Maine, going to a waterpark with my cousins

Quads on forest trails that seem to stretch across the state, from their house to town, miles

The unique smell of a hoodie passed down, which I realize mine smell like now

Hiking on trails through the deserts of Utah, up an entirely different kind of mountain

Building a fort with my friends at the fairgrounds, 4 rooms, 2 stories, a staircase, and more

Taking parts and a cart at my uncle’s house and building an entire car from parts on Easter

The smell of old books in a library or a shelf in the house

Motorcycle rides through the outskirts of Denver (my mother did NOT love this one)

Riding quads and bikes down country roads all day and night

The mixture of cologne scents in stores and the bathroom

A well-worn shirt that has stood the test of time

Skateboarding down the streets of downtown, they’re smooth and empty at midnight

The bittersweet return home from a vacation, only sweet because of my bed

Cranking over my car right at 6 am, and driving for half an hour on my birthday before one act

The sound of an engine under load, or revving in neutral

Misty mornings in springtime, fog covering the hillsides outside of town, wafting over the streets

A mildly rainy day while driving out of town with friends, the smell of rain surrounding us

The smell of stale cigarettes on my bomber jacket passed down from a late great-uncle

Fireworks explode on the fourth of July, many are not legal, but still, they fly high

This and many more, all from years gone by, yet many to come, so no need to cry

-Schrodinger's Katze

 A Shot Rang Out - (From Prompt: “You Find Yourself the Villian in the End”

It’s cold and dark. 

So cold. 

Icy metal rests in my hand, as I groggily raise my eyelids. 

The stench of burnt brass lazily wafts in the air, stinging my eyes and nose. 

I go to move and can’t feel my leg. 

I look down to see a mangled mess. 

There’s nothing I can do. 

Nothing.

I give myself thirty, maybe twenty minutes if no help arrives. 

Nevertheless, I pull my sweat-stained shirt off my back and attempt a makeshift tourniquet. 

It might buy me five extra minutes. 

I don’t remember what happened. 

The smell of iron is covering the room.

A puddle in the corner, dark.

So dark.

Another mangled form sits there, a hole in their chest.

Just like me, they don’t move an inch.

What happened?

The doorway…someone’s in the doorway.

Sirens explode outside.

Red and blue lusters around the figure's silhouette.

I hurt.

I ask for help.

I don’t receive it. 

The person is set in stone.

They’re a statue, set in stone.

Cold stone.

Why won’t they help?

I feel their glare across my face, it burns me, just like the spent brass sprawled around me.

As they approach, I look down at my lap and see what the metal is.

A gun.

They come closer.

Closer yet.

They’re on top of me.

I can’t breathe.

They retreat rapidly as I quiver and move my hand around the metal lump in my lap.

Help me.

They don’t.

He’s still in here, he’s not moving. It’s been twenty minutes.

It’s my fault, all my fault.

The memories come back.

The house, the break-in, the dopamine-induced trigger pull out of fear.

All I needed was a couple hundred to get me out of the state.

They tried to fight me, not five feet I had stepped.

A shot rang out.

The sirens, they’re loud, so damn LOUD!
Yeah, I have him, he’s in the bedroom by the window.

I’m cold.

I raise the gun, not at the statue, but myself.

A click.

I’m not going closer, just get in here.

The gun is jammed, yet one round remains.

I smack the slide into place, grimacing in agony.

A click. The round is chambered.

He has a gun! You’re the police, get in here!

I know there’s no other way out.

I can’t go back.

They won’t help me.

They won’t.

I have the only way out.

I raise the gun again.

It’s my fault, it’s all my fault, all for a couple hundred dollars.

Yeah right.

It’ll be a couple hundred years now.

Not on my watch, I can’t live like this.

I won’t let them have me, never.

A shot rang out.

-Schrodinger's Katze