Ironing the Wrinkles

The ironies of time are not

lost on me. In fact, I seem

to be confronted with them

more often than seems…

normal.

Universal time is not without

its deranged pleasures with

respect to karma, dharma,

and good old fashioned

hilarity.

It is not justice however,

there is no justice in the ironies

of fate. It is, as they say so wisely

at times, merely, “It is what it is,”

which only provides cold comfort.

At first I was angry when I heard,

then I was annoyed, then I saw the

stone hearted practical joke meted out

through the veil of the universes’ sense

of order through chaos and felt amused.

Chaos that at one time was avoidable.

A practical joke that would have failed.

A better place than just, it is what it is, simply because

it is was there.  The cosmic alignment could have

changed course and landed ironically on someone

else’s heartbreak.

Yet I don’t wish for it to change,

I don’t want the universe to correct anything,

I don’t want any vengeance or feel the pangs of

vendetta tugging at me. It’s only a curious admiration

for the murky irony dealt someone that thought better.

A strange sadness fills me when I think about their

unfortunate spate of luck. There is no vindication.

There’s no enjoyment, merely a muddled sense of

missing something. Without knowing what that

missing piece is, but knowing you’re not better than me.

The universe and its ironies will catch up

to me too one day. I’m sure I’ll be slapped,

kicked and tickled by the hands of fate as it makes

my chaos orderly through whatever means it

deems necessary. Who’ll be laughing then?