At the checkoutline

At the checkout line, someone cuts in place,
My pulse jumps high, my thoughts start to race:
“This can’t be right, I should say something now!”
But the words get stuck – better let it slide somehow.

A colleague smirks, throws a comment my way,
And I feel the anger rise, wanting to stay.
But before I snap, I pause and I think:
“What would Mandela do, standing on this brink?”

[Chorus]
I’m not Gandhi, I’m not Mandela,
Not Mother Teresa, not Jesus, oh well-a.
But in the little things, I practice the play,
Let the anger fade, and just say: “Okay.”

[Verse 2]
The neighbor complains: “Your trash blocks the street!”
My head says, “Explain, and don’t take the heat!”
But before I start, I know it’s not wise,
I turn around and think: “What would Buddha advise?”

A car cuts me off, driving way out of line,
My foot twitches hard, but I keep it fine.
I breathe in deep, because here’s the clue:
“Even Gandhi must’ve had bad days too.”

[Chorus]
I’m not Gandhi, I’m not Mandela,
Not Mother Teresa, not Jesus, oh well-a.
But in the little things, I practice the play,
Let the anger fade, and just say: “Okay.”

[Bridge]
No heroic deeds, just everyday stress,
But I find some joy in calming the mess.
A smile here, a wink over there,
Suddenly, anger turns to thin air.

[Chorus]
I’m not Gandhi, I’m not Mandela,
Not Mother Teresa, not Jesus, oh well-a.
But in the little things, I practice the play,
Let the anger fade, and just say: “Okay.”

[Outro]
I’m no saint, not even near,
But every small step makes the big things clear.
A little like Gandhi, a touch Mandela,
Maybe I’m just me – and that feels stellar.