Sometimes my life is one long nudge.
For every yawn, scratch or words not said right,
There is a nudge.
It could be a nudge of judgement, a nudge of shock,
Or of annoyance, irritation, embarrassment or warning.
Sometimes it is a nudge of disbelief
That I should be so uncouth
Rude or thoughtless ………
And never learn.
There is a bruise of shame
On my biceps and ribs,
My thigh and ankle too,
That sometimes still fails to penetrate my brain enough to learn.
Thank heavens we do not possess telepathy.
A nudge in the cerebrum might jar my synapses
Into making sense.
Fortunately women are civilising influences. Left to my own devices I’d probably be extremely uncouth. Yet it is a little restricting to find oneself pulled up for every imaginary social faux pas.
I guess our awareness levels are set at different settings on the gauge.