Standing on my soapbox
I railed
Unforgiving sky
all
rain clouds and grey oppression
“This is what I know”
I shouted
“Better than anyone here
I know it
Listen
You have no choice”
Closed eyes
Upturned face
Pompous lips
“Listen to me!”
The clouds ignored
Rain
still threatened
“But I’m right”
papal surety
“and you’re wrong
You always have been
you just didn’t
see it”
Mocked by the storm
her callous ambivalence
My soggy soapbox
beginning to sag
“You still don’t see it
Do you?”
Pause growing pregnant
“Do you?”
Here I stood
infallible me
pontificating to a sky
that couldn’t care less
about something that didn’t matter
Making not a dent
Feeling only my own
frustration
anger
resentment
Why this need
to be right all the time?

[From Alison’s prompt of ‘pontificate’]]