Life’s Metaphor.

Most people presume I’m a hysterical bitch…

That’s usually when they’re in a metaphorical stitch…

Others utter I’m a path on a trail…

Without any durable guardrails…

Some muse that I’m a novel with distinct paragraphs,

To which I cannot freely will an autograph.

A few folk ham that I’m a theater where genres abound.

Directing Dark Tragic Comedies that dumbfound. 

An arborist crooned that I’m a Norway Maple.

With branches that are presumably stable.

Teens claim that I’m a video-game 

With a bug or glitch that spoils the endgame. 

A crotchety old man grumbled that I’m a television

With so many channels that he can’t make a decision.

“The Sun,” asserted an astrologist 

Casting light on amoralists. 

“A roller-coaster,” cautioned the county fair engineer 

With sheer exhilaration—twists and turns—and unmitigated fear.

“A canvas,” remarked an abstract painter

For the brush strokes of human banter.

‘A jigsaw puzzle,” bellowed a fourth grade student

Sometimes we are  incompatible, other-times we are in alignment. 

“An ocean” piped an Olympic Surfer.

Riding the waves for observers. 

“A clock,” contended a horologist.

For in a split second one can cease to exist.

A botanist chirped, “a garden.”

Education roots a seed at kindergarten.

A meteorologist declared “a forecast.”

Weathering the present and the past.

“Definitely a dance” decided the ballerina,

Performing delicately in life’s anatomized arena. 

“A song,” persisted the jazz musician. 

We continue to revise the lyrics of our compositions.

A civil engineer quipped “a bridge.”

One must make and cross them with courage.

“A smartphone” conveyed a Generation-Z Techie. 

People constantly update and recharge on the daily. 

You are right to presume and assume.

I’m none of those costumes—simply a waiting room.