Long Unspoken Fury

How was it my fault,

Dad,

When those dime store Wallabees

Melted through the furnace grate?

How you always chided me

When I said I was afraid,

“Don’t be such a fraidy cat.”

Now you stand and seethe, enraged

Learning what I always know.

Floor grates lead to misery

And premature, stinky, deaths

For green plastic army men

And your cheap-ass knock-off shoes!

Questions of Heroes and Saints

Do heroes have to be perfect

in order to earn our respect?

Must they be free from all blemish?

Is that what we’ve come to expect?

How much stain, how much tarnish,

how much of a character blemish

can be glossed over by splashing

on coats of whitewash and varnish

before the seething and gnashing

of the oppressed leads to the trashing

of monument to those held dear

in eruptions of violent clashing?

The answers, my friends, are clear.

Let’s open our ears and try to hear

the history of brutal oppression

that cause so many to live in fear.

Since if we can’t learn this lesson

we’ll lose more than an election!

Folks, it’s high time to reject

this notion that every hero warrants beatification!

His Master’s Voice?

They must think us dogs

salivating to their bells

doing tricks for tiny treats!

~

And how can they not

when we drool at every cue

playing games they tell us to?

~

Is there any choice?

After all, they hold the cards

and set the rules we must regard.

~

Why must we regard

their arbitrary edicts

when their only care

is their self-serving interests?

Bite the hands that feed, I say!

Ignore their strident bellows!

Exercise our every freedom!

Let us run across the meadows!

On The Borderline Again

His smarmy tongue waggles,
weaving glowing gossamers, clouding hearts and minds
with mists of glittering unreason.

His garbled glossolalia

explains inexplicable,

defends indefensible,

justifies vast injustices.

Before his words, miasmas
of fecund decay shift,
begins to resemble aromas
of lavender and roses.

Venomously,

crass caresses

of slimy snake oil

conceal cuts of serrated steel.

Hope and reason succumbs
to resignation and despair.
Luminous hope drowns struggling
in seas of gilded sludge.

As growing thick dark shrouds

envelop all, he pauses,

draws breath, smiles.

In that instant his spells shatter!

Plug your ears, Ulysses!
There are no second chances.

Odes to Injustice

I spent several hours waiting around the courtroom today. Perhaps these may express some sights and sounds of this misspent day:

1. A commentary on the plea agreement system:

Quiet Consultation

—–

Attorneys whisper

Secret, sotto voce, songs

Sibilant hissings

Singing with the A/C’s sigh.

Thus his fate is decided.

~

2. An examination of the contrast between expectation and reality:

Resounding Thud

—–

With that gavel fall

Shallow party dreams collapse

Back into the hole

~