October 11, 2018

It's probably nothing,

In the way that the pit in my stomach

Is something I shouldn't dismiss,

Shouldn't push aside, as the past,

Ten years on, squeezes the present

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"It's probably nothing,"

I tell myself, in the way the original complaint

Commanded no justification, gave no basis

For the commission of my time, the call

To pacify the malcontented.

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"It's probably nothing,"

I tell my ex-colleagues, well moved on,

But with memory strong of a persistent mom,

And a petulant done-no-wrong,

And the administrator front and center.

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It's probably nothing,

Despite the arms this area bears,

Despite the unwarranted outrage that lives in rage,

Despite the tenor of our troubled times,

That thrives by the tension in the air.

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"It's probably nothing,"

I tell my chief of security,

"But I appreciate your assistance,

Would gladly welcome your presence

When I let the past back in again."
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It's probably nothing,

But still I want to remind all how much I care,

I've done my best to show it fully,

Even if at times, I had to do it subtly,

I have lived as best as I can love.

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If I am able to critique this last section,

Been able to disprove this unsightly fear,

Or been fortunate enough to withstand

The aims of the unhappy disputer,

It's probably nothing.