Rare, The Myth

The prompt I select

Speaks of that which is rare.

At three in the morning

I could pull out my hair.

For you see in this age

Of internet and viral,

Once something is said

It is doomed to spiral.

Every antic and quest

Fulfilled and pursued.

Is mimicked and shared.

Regardless how rude.

It has been said.

“The world is your stage…”

But must we put up

With such foolishness

And rage?

It might be the hour

That triggers my stress.

But I too am on Facebook.

That much I’ll confess.

The things that I read

Are far from “rare.”

Recipes and pet pictures

I really don’t care.

Sitting on the couch

Reading the paper

Sherlock and I

Could solve every caper.

What would it take

To qualify as rare?

I travel a lot.

Done that, been there.

Perhaps if I drive

This predictable small town

Something “rare” I might spot.

So far, nothing’s found.

It’s now four O’clock.

Driving in the dark.

Hoping for inspiration

Or a writer’s spark…

I’m calling it a night.

I’ve got “writer’s block.”

Almost sideswiped a car.

Still shaking from shock!

Some people have nerve.

Driving a vintage Model T.

It doesn’t have turn signals.

It almost hit me!

OH, WAIT…!