Rebekah George Assignment 14

The Thing About Tradition

Prison is like tradition—

Not that I’ve ever been.

A bizarre form of ammunition,

Riddling vacations, holidays, and things akin

With holes of boredom and repetition.

Chaining us down

With false promises of experiences, limited addition.

I only hope to keep my feet on the ground

Amidst this year’s rendition

Of things that once were and never will be again.

One day, perhaps, we’ll reach a position

Much to traditionalists’ chagrin when

My holiday break comes to fruition

When a gleeful transition, a demolition of that pesky tradition  

With no opposition,

Allows me reprieve from my inhibitions.

A restful sort of intermission

From the exhausting show that is life. A redefinition

Of the human condition.

An acquisition of some new mission

To allow recognition of this very petition.

Quite frankly, I seek abolition

Of this bogus doctrine of tradition.

Tis my ambition.

It’s time to decommission this apparition

And use our own volition   

To put tradition into remission

Like the cancer it is that doomed my ancestors to a life of perdition.

In essence, I have my suspicions about this strange thing we call tradition;

However, if it must stay because I can’t have my way,

I just want a say in how we spend the holiday.