New from dyslexic temple mount...

of one mortal university
undergraduate built in madly
the brainchild of one Forest Hadley
an a Ford able game paid top dollar
after being purchased by Milton Bradley
called Dodge the Old Farts.

A favorite game I (and the wife) play
here at Highland Manor originated
by yours truly (me) and the spouse
soon after we moved here
eight years ago July first
two thousand and twenty five,
and entails a bit of strategy
and skulduggery to avoid
the poor sniveling souls.

We slink and slither along the halls
of what used to be Schwenksville Elementary School,
a building erected in 1969,
repurposed as a low income facility
for indigent and disabled
penniless senior citizen bankers.

The habitual behavior of each resident
(including me - a fluffless matted
married Scottish Unitarian,
who writes these words)
can be predictable after espying
each and every one of us
exiting from or returning
to their/our respective apartment unit
and take appropriate preemptive measures
to avoid crossing paths
with a wheezing geezer,
which near impossible mission
to avoid a close encounter
of the third eye blind kind
and I would zealously, personally,
and gladly willingly allow, enable
and provide myself
to get voluntarily abducted
by an extraterrestrial
from the outer limits
of the twilight zone,
where dark shadows
signal the edge of night.

As a for instance
unspoken and unwritten coda
when passing a fellow tenant
in the hallway or elsewhere on the property
without acknowledging the old fogey
perhaps gnawing on an unlit stogie
(since Highland Manor Apartments
purportedly a smoke free environment)
courtesy a friendly hello
essentially blatantly ignoring hypothetical resident
registered as a fait accompli for insubordination
within the historical contractual obligation
established and signed with blood
upon first setting foot within the premises
(even on the periphery of the border
demarcating property brothers demesne)
recorded as dirty deeds
done dirt cheap accordingly
and hashtagged with a black mark
as a major flagrant violation of lease
and legal grounds to be sent
to the most strict penal penitentiary
punished with penile solitude for life,
which for one generic solitudinarian
christened Matthew Scott Harris,
(who also considers himself
a latitudinarian, nonestablishmentarian,
sexangenarian and Unitarian),
would be considered
a stately and heavenly lock haven
surrounded by pristine
waters of Lake Woebegone
that power a gristmill,
where the inmates
process powder milk biscuits.

Though hyperbole incorporated
regarding the above couched
subliminal messages bearly written between the lions,
I do attest that many of the senior citizens
here at above named
low income housing facility
if felt snubbed automatically
lament being ignored and feel indignant
against whoever chooses
not to reciprocate
courtesy a pleasant superficial
friendly seasons greeting
and takes as a personal affront
not being recognized
as a very important person.