It’s Okay to Admit You’re Wrong

A Senryu, 3 Parts

previous testing
done for patient somewhere else
she insists we’re wrong

I search the system
co-worker reviews it too
we find no records

patient dismisses
the mistake’s made on her part
ends the call upset

I will be the first to admit I’m wrong when I am wrong. I cannot tell you the number of patients with whom I speak on a daily basis who are adamant about having their radiological services rendered with us when in actuality, those services have been with another entity. It’s okay to admit you’re wrong, especially if you go to multiple places to have your medical needs met. It’s really okay. My co-worker and I handled the issue accordingly. In the end, the patient was informed of where she had her imaging done based on her description of the location and advised to reach out to them for her medical recordsbut she really just couldn’t believe she was wrong.

Hell in a Handbasket, but There’s Still Time for Autumn

One of the last trees to still sport its autumn leaves. Photo Credit: Tremaine L. Loadholt

This nation, as I see it, is going to Hell in a handbasket. It will be carried by the same naysayers who believe the all-knowing and loving God is for their hypocritical ways and do not oppose their actions. The God you serve is not the God I serve. My God is more than likely weeping as he watches His children carry on like fools, senselessly taking the lives of others, running amok without fair cause, and denying human beings basic rights.

You are playing a flute that holds no sound, yet you want me to listen. Where is your melody? How does it benefit me? When will it actually do something worthwhile?

We elected a president who, when it all falls down, has sided with a judicial system that purposes a select few. He has said out of his mouth, to respect the system, to acknowledge what has been done peacefully. For real? Like, for real . . . real? Acknowledge a system that has NEVER worked in anyone of color’s favor? Acknowledge a system and respect it that could not bring forth a verdict that actually makes sense?

It is 2021, yet we are reliving days of Antebellum. There is no escaping this. This is what they want. And to get to where they intend to seek refuge, they will continue to whittle us down like pieces of wood.

I’m so tired of people making excuses for America. America has ALWAYS been this way. She isn’t changing. Her ways are not so distant from the 1800s–they’re only slightly different.

I walked through my neighborhood today, still seething in anger from an unjust system. I tried to remain calm. I tried to look to Jernee for some semblance of peace. But I found it . . . in the last leaves of autumn.

**I don’t intend to argue or go back and forth with anyone about my thoughts, feelings, and opinions. I know what I’ve lived, witnessed, been forced to do, and experienced. Racism is still alive and well. I don’t need anyone to tell me what is and isn’t.

But–Had He Been A Man of Color . . .

this dated system
works for melanin-challenged
liars on the stand

there is no justice
for the black man or woman
there never will be

it’s easy when you
have what they are looking for
you get off scot-free

The American “criminal” justice system is an effing joke. How one can be absolved of all wrong-doing when it’s clearly present and lives have been lost because of it is a constant mind-blowing thing to me. But, really . . . I’m not shocked. Re: The Kyle Rittenhouse verdict.

Blinded by Her Definition of Me by Tremaine L. Loadholt

Special thanks to Gabriela, the lovely editor at MasticadoresUSA, for publishing my latest poem. Please do check it out when you have time. Peace and blessings.

MasticadoresUsa // Editora: Gabriela Marie Milton

Photo by Natalia Almeida via ReShot

Blinded by Her Definition of Me
by Tremaine L. Loadholt

author’s sites:

I’ve died two deaths;
one in her eyes, and one
in her daughter’s eyes.
I’m not who she expected.
her image of me was
a porcelain doll damaged
and cracked, but willing
to be glued by love.

all confidence is lost
upon endless time.

the nimble
glory of lingering love
wanders amongst our
lying tongues. I deny
what we have, I denounce
what she wants.
blinded by her definition
of me, I retreat.

I am not the savior
she needs–my powers
are limited.
she suddenly loses hope.

my ears have been
home to her magnetic cries;
I house secrets–keep
them safe. I won’t
allow anyone to fetch
them without her permission.
she knows my word
is my bond.

I am in the background,
a shadowy image of
her faithful dreams.

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