Brass In Pocket

Today I don’t feel so special. Ah, but you are! come the reassurances, but are they sincere? How does one know? How do I know? What’s the expression… “if ya ain’t lyin’, you’re dyin’. 

 

In other words, people are too fucking polite.

 

I spend a lot of my time wondering whether I’m worthy of anyone else’s. Too much of my time. What I need to be doing is taking a better look at whether they are worth mine. 

 

Way back in the day, my mom used to be big into the CB radio scene. Like me, she was very social by nature, and she loved to talk a good game. Her call name was Pocket Mouse. When I was a kid, I thought it was kinda cute. It wasn’t until recently when I was describing Mom’s perverse humor that it hit me just what it meant. Remember the old line, “Is that a mouse in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?” 

 

She was special. She had a way of relating to people that made them feel at home. A woman of steel with a heart of gold. All of my life I’ve wished to be her, flaws and all. Me? I’m just a tough nut to crack with barely any heart left at all. 

 

What is left of it, however, is worthy. 

 

So, were I to pick up a CB right now and introduce myself, I think it would be Pocket Brass. Because I need to remember that my heart has endured a lot, and still beats steadily even when it wants to stop. It’s not quite as pretty as gold, and has dulled over time, but it’s strong and worth having in your pocket.