There may be a heaven
And maybe a hell
But there is one thing
I know **** well;
There are devils around
And they do their worst
To put the working man
Into a poor man’s hearse.
They hate poor people
And kiss the royal ***
Of those who they think
Represents real class.

And real class to devils
Is money beyond belief
So they side with the creeps
That hate welfare and relief.
They know what they are doing
And they do it every time.
They gleefully participate
In global-scale crime.
They pump up bank accounts
Of the obscenely rich
And call the working a man
A loser sonofabitch.

They buy the politicians,
Who are devils themselves,
And push helpful programs
Onto a dusty back shelf.
If it doesn’t make money
For the greedy one percent
Then any such bill proposed
On the floor is never even sent.
So, I do believe in Devils
Not so much of the rest of the book.
If you don’t believe in Devils
Turn around and take a good look.

Sitting in my easy chair
By the double windows
Happy just to be here
In my ratty old bungalow.
But happy doesn’t cover it.
It’s really dreams come true.
I have my own place here.
No roommate to suffer through.

It’s Saturday afternoon now
The sun slowly going down
Painting my walls colored
Like the face of a happy clown;
Reds and whites and yellow
Bouncing off the green lawn
And making art of my home
Until the sun at last is gone
Yet I still remember every tone.

Some days I sit under my tree.
I ate the avocadoes you know.
And I planted it right here
No idea that it would grow
Into this magnificent tree
It is twenty five feet or so;
A beauty that calms me
Just watching it grow.

Rain on the roof
Distributor of peace
Of rest and sleep;
A blessed release
For what better to do
What stronger proof
Than taking a great nap
With rain on the roof?

“Boys will be boys,”
The bully’s parents said.
All that talk of discipline
Went over their heads.

The older boys at school
Gathered around the kid
With the glasses on his face;
Knocked them off his head.
Their words questioning
His manhood and his folks
And nobody paid attention
To the nature of the jokes.

“Boys will be boys,”
The principal said.
He washed his hands
Now one boy is dead.

They waited in an alley
Until the boy walked by
A place they knew for sure
No one would hear him cry.
They each one ***** him
Then one guy had a knife
After he killed the boy
He called him a lousy wife.

“Boys will be boys,”
The police officer said
Then used his baton
On the black kid’s head.

A black kid found the body
Of the white kid in the mud.
He brought the local cop, who
Thought him from the hood.
He beat up on the black kid
And took him to the jail.
Nobody knew about him, so
Nobody made his bail.


“Boys will be boys,”
The juvenile judge said
He closed the case
Went golfing instead.

There were no forensics,
No witnesses were sought.
No evidence of quality
Was asked for or brought.
The system had its criminal
And quickly put him away
And that’s where he is living
Until this very day.

“Boys will be boys,”
Never really worked
It only ever pointed out
That the speaker was a ****.

It’s about my husband Alex,
He’s a truly wonderful man
But I fear Alex has gone
For a trip to Wonderland.
He works hard, and long
But lost some of his grip
On reality as it really is
And seems to be on a trip.

Ice trays that fill themselves,
Self-closing cupboard doors,
And magic laundry chutes
That puts clothes back in drawers
Ketchup bottles with 1/10th ounce
And leftovers never consumed.
And of course automobiles
Driven but never get tuned.

In Alex’s fantasyland
He lives across a chasm
Where only he gets hungry
Or gets to have an ******.
He doesn’t answer doorbells
Or incoming calls on the phone.
And, when he’s watching games
He is demands to be left alone.

Presents given out by him
In his fairy tale existence
Are often gift certificates
After a round of insistence.
And, don’t ask my husband
For the date of our anniversary
Or the dates our children
Showed up in the nursery.

I am only mentioning all this
Because I totally understand.
I have read quite a few books.
I have been to Disneyland.
But what I don’t understand
And can’t get into my head
Is why he hasn’t heard me yet,
Or a ****** word I have said.

It isn’t like I haven’t complained
Or told him what I wanted.
But he looks around like maybe
He thinks the house is haunted,
Because he is hearing voices
That he can’t quite understand.
See? What did I tell you?
Alex lives in Wonderland!

I’ve been a busboy, a waiter,
A salesman for road crews
A cook and a soda ****.
The American market is
Not set up that well for
Kids who want to work.
Before I was twenty five
I’d had eighty different jobs
Some of them at the same time.
Some parents think their kids
Are a good source of income.
Others think that is a crime.

I suppose it’s one thing
If the kid picks his own job;
Does what he wants with money.
But robbing his stash
When he is out working
Is not even close to being funny.
And keeping a youngster
Both working and schooling
And no social or playtime is sad.
It robs him of childhood
And rips off all his ambition.
The child has to somehow turn bad.

Maybe it only trusting
That the kid learns not to do.
Maybe that dreams don’t come true.
Maybe the kid learns
His hard work and dedication
Only gets him blisters when he’s through.
That was all true of me;
I did what I was told and
I learned that joy and accomplishment
Earned no praise for the doing
Only produced, if I didn’t work hard
A tremendous amount of admonishment.

So, when I left home
I had no direction in mind;
I looked ahead to sixty more years
Of working and being robbed
By people I wanted to trust
And not even being capable of tears.
This may sound like a whine
Blaming and much worse
A griper that’s totally out of line.
But what it really means
Is your kids aren’t your slaves
To be put to work in some coal mine.

Go outside after breakfast
Come back for lunch at noon.
Come inside at suppertime
And even then, it was too soon.
Never permitted to be late
We ate dinner at six each day
Eat every bite on our plate.
About the menu we had no say.

We had baking soda submarines
Popular Mechanics magazines
And that was technology back then.
Decoder rings and roller skate keys
Shooting marbles on our knees
And playing crooks and G-men.

Those days we had three channels
On all black and white televisions.
Just the same thirteen inch boxes;
Nothing like 3D or Panavision.
Loved Uncle Miltie and Lucille Ball
And considered Korla Pandit a waste,
But we must be forgiven because
Back then, no one had much taste.

We could spell Kula, Fran and Ollie,
Said words like “gosh”, and “by golly”
And were anxious to see flying cars.
Many movies were in Technicolor
But you always had to take your brother
And he didn’t recognize the stars.

After school we played sandlot ball
Saturday were TV cartoon shows;
Dancing trees with belly buttons
And a local clown with a red nose.
We joined Cubs and Boy Scouts
Had lemonade stands by the street,
Matchbooks in bicycle stokes
And used bottle cap taps for our feet.

It seemed like days were longer then
And summer was slow to come again.
Those were the days when we had fun.
We built our forts and hooked up swings
Kids did all crazy kinds of things
Before these modern times had begun.

It’s time for yet another session
To inform you about depression.
You may want to say “Just stop!”
Like a psychological traffic cop.
But as any of us who suffer say
“Pal, it just doesn’t work that way.”
This is not some social craze
And it certainly is not a phase.

It is something we suffer through
And you’re lucky if it isn’t you.
It’s worse than any story you read
To have a ***** fight in your head.
There are no praises you can sing.
Something is wrong with everything.
Even the sunniest day looks gray
And you can’t see it another way.

For many of us, it’s a long sad story,
And maybe cerebral instead of gory.
Something has made our life tough.
Maybe we were never good enough,
Or that was the way it all seemed
Before our dreams began to scream.
We can seldom remember back so far
To discover where lie the scars.

There are times when things go well,
But most times it’s a personal hell.
You can’t take joy in the normal things
That might make other’s heart sing.
You find that you have given up hope
You feel you are at the end of your rope.
Sadly, while you sit and pull your hair.
You see you have gotten used to despair.

I know some of you that don’t suffer
This illness want to help a brother
Or sister come beyond this trauma.
But you can’t label our pain as drama.
What you can do to lend a hand to us
Is to listen to us and not abandon us.
What often works is a true confessional
In the hands of a well-trained professional.

Love is not just about you
And surely not just about me.
Love never exists anywhere
Unless we’re both free.
It cannot be a prison
Where one holds the key.
Love is not just about you
And surely not just about me.

Love is never selfish
If so, it’s something different.
It may be lust or desire
But it is some other sentiment.
You might wish it to be love
But if it’s all about what you meant
Then it is something besides love
Caanot stand as its equivalent.

If you love someone you wish
They get all that is good for them.
You say prayers for their life
And then you say amen.
Because you wish them to have
All the joy there ever has been,
And when they get that, you wish
That it will happen once again.

So, how can it be love if you
Wish only what you may need?
How can it be love if it is
All about your own sense of greed?
Love is not just about you
And surely not just about me.
Love never exists anywhere
Unless we’re both free.

My first friend was a big dog
A great big beautiful boxer.
His name was Duke; he loved me
Seemed prepared to stay forever,
Protecting me from any and all
In our house of anger and noise.
Two careless adults lived there
And no other girls or boys.

There was just the three of us;
I, the first child, and damaged,
Whose infancy was one of abuse,
Whose trust had been ravaged.
A child naturally cries sometimes
And irritates a self-centered dad
He can approach and gesture
And convince the dog he is mad.

Beloved friend, center of my world
Was gone from me the very next day.
Until I was an older child I was told
Dad raged then he took Duke away.
Duke didn’t know, nor did dad
That on that sad and scary day
Dad took not only my doggie friend
But he took trust in my dad away.

Duke was only doing his job, but
Dad saw it as a protective stance.
When that dog growled at him
He **** near peed in his pants.
“I won’t have a dog that threatens
Living in my own house with me!”
I know after living decades at home
What was threatened was dad’s authority.

I am very seriously angry
My government has gone mad.
It seems to be out to get me
And take everything I ever had.
Once I was proud of my country
And got a swell in my throat
When I heard the national anthem.
That was before they stole my vote.

That was before I discovered
This country had been co-opted.
That was before the them of hatred
Had been officially adopted.
That was when animals were safe
And our national resources were too.
Now my government was to ******
The birthright owing to me and you.

That was before being rich
Was the only way to be fairly safe.
That was before the government
Chose to put their weapons on strafe.
That was before the wealthy
Could do whatever they might want
And before they felt it was their right
To go on television and flaunt.

They flaunt their hatred of women,
The poor and the weak and sick.
That was before I could not deny
Our country had become a ****;
A horrifyingly rich and powerful
Banana republic , we’re the worst.

Equality and protection are gone
Unless you are a millionaire.
And even then you must adhere
To the party line or else beware.
But we have the greediest bunch
Of liars and evil brand of crooks
That have ever been in control;
The leaders are cooking the books.

Falling for hyper-fit gym rats.
Salivating over straight guys
Dating guys who never once
Looked me right in the eyes.
Much too easy to be picked up,
It’s almost like they know I am
The perfect dupe for one-night stands;
The sucker for the guys that scam.

I’ve had my wallet lifted once
My car stolen one time, too.
I have lots of phone numbers
Nobody is connected to.
I laughed at all their jokes and
I bought all of the drinks,
And never once did he seem
To want to know what I think.

It was all so very mellow, then.
I told him my name when we met.
But within a half hour after that
He forgot it, I would place a bet.
He never introduced me to
Any of the guys who said hi.
There might be other reasons
But I think he forgot is why.

Once I thought my problem was
That I was being much so easy.
That good guys weren’t attracted
To someone that was too ******.
But age and wisdom taught me
Being needy is dating poison.
So, I’m slowly but surely learning
An extremely humiliating lesson.

You are fighting again
And want me to come
To worship at your temple
Of the dazed and dumb
Who are led so easily
By the mention of God
And find us who question
To be diseased or odd.

Don’t sing us songs
About your holy wars.
That is really not what
Praying and progress are for.

You dress yourself in medals
And thousand dollar suits
And pretend merchants
Are not your family roots.
You think to disguise profit
As your one raison d’etre
So you speak flowery nothings
And haven’t made sense yet.

We have untold resources
To heal the lame and poor.
Endless war is not what
Praying and progress are for.

You create your holy mantras
About defense and protection
While every kind of help for us
Meets with official rejection.
You make excuses to invade
And make money out of death.
Then, make up tales of threats
Until you’re almost out of breath.

Don’t sing us songs
About your holy wars.
That is really not what
Praying and progress are for.
We have untold resources
To heal the lame and poor.
Endless war is not what
Praying and progress are for.

You enticed me, your neighbor,
Newly moved in right upstairs
With aromas of your cooking.
And you invited me to share.
We started then to get close
Like brother and sister were we
That had different parents
But still becoming family.

I ******* about all and sundry
You smiled and said let it go.
I complained about the heat
You laughed and told me “Go
Down to the beach and play;
Get wet and come on back
Then remember Missouri
And see what little you lack.”

And, nobody laughed so,
Delighted with my every jest.
Never remembered punch lines
Yet swore mine were the best.
If I passed near her doorway
I was urged to come inside.
This was the very doorway
Where camaraderie did abide.

So, for a decade we took
Samples of what we cooked
Up and down the stairs
To each other and each took
That deep and abiding pleasure
Of having someone upstairs
Who had that cup of sugar
Or that butter we could share.

I live today with gratitude;
I was blessed, for however long
To listen to the lovely music
Of friendship’s gentle song.
I will miss the coffee shops
And boulevard people watching.
I need to stop this for now as
My throat seems to be catching.

BIG BUT…

I’m a tolerant type of person
So, I try to look at others leniently.
(But...)
You sent the fox to guard the hen house,
That kind of thinking doesn’t makes no sense to me.
I don’t know why you took the stance
That this was such a clever thing to do.
(But…)
Then with all the chickens gone
You tried hard to blame everyone but you.

You got to look out for that big but.
It gets in the way of so much you say.
You always seem to show that big but.
It’s gonna bit you in the end someday.

Your peers have chosen to trust in you.
They sent you to work to represent their case.
(But…)
You took it as a treasure chest
And ran amok, and now you are off base.
Your corruption is nearly absolute
You job is to care what the people think
(But…)
You lost touch with what you are
Right now you don’t know just how much you stink.

You got to look out for that big but.
It gets in the way of so much you say.
You always seem to show that big but.
It’s gonna bite you in the end someday.

Do you know people
That hate people
For what they are?
Don’t invite those people
Into your car.

Do you know people
That hang with people
That steal from the poor?
Do not vote for such a boor.

Do you know people
That insist other people
Have to worship like them.
Their minds are dim.

Do you have friends
That like to steal?
Show them all
The back of your heels.
Because one thing
Will prove to be true;
They will steal from you.

Do you know folks
Who gossip madly?
Ignore them or
Treat them badly.
Then maybe some day
They will just go away.

Do you know some
Who ignore their kids;
Neglect them every day?
Tell those people off
Somehow, some way.
And if that doesn’t work,
Call the cops on the ****.

Do you know some politicians
Behave like ****** patricians?
Don’t suffer and protect them.
Don’t elect them.
Ostracize them as rotten louts
Then, quickly vote them out!

Do you think you can’t
Make a change that counts?
Find these fools and pounce.
Let them know your mind.
Don’t just sit there blind.
Get mad as hell.
Then rebel!

If you love
The poorest moment
Makes you feel wealthy.
Your weakest movement
Will make you feel healthy.
You’ll count your blessings
As many as stars in the sky.
You’ll know you are fortunate
And you will know exactly why.

If you love
Your friends will not forget you,
Your memories will be joys to the end.
You will be the sunshine in life
To yourself and your beloved friends.
You will all gather to celebrate
Whenever you possibly can do it.
And those friends will stand the tide
Of reversal and see you through it.

If you love,
You will appreciate life’s many gifts.
The slightest gesture is like gold
If it is meant to wish you all the best.
The blessings age as you grow old.
You’re friends and family will smile
And shine the light of their eyes
Because you are before them and
Their love cannot be disguised.

If you love,
All that life can gather to give you
Will be magnificent memories of joy
That make you feel like you were a child
And had the gift of a wonderful toy;
One you had always wanted, or even
One you never had known was real.
But, if you love, you will have it all.
You will be glad of the love you feel.

Don’t bring me those bouquets
Don’t clap me off the stage
Because my tour is not yet done
Some parts are just begun.
That would just be so wrong.
I haven’t sung my last song.
You must never forget,
I’m not quite done yet.

I need no one to carry me
It’s not time to bury me
In celebratory flowers
I’ve still got a few hours
Left for me in the spotlight
Tonight is not my last night.
Thought I’ve had my regrets
I’m not really done yet.

There are so many songs inside me
And melodies that will guide me
They want to come out whole
From deep inside my soul
But one thing I am certain
Don’t bring down that final curtain.
I’ve got more numbers to do
And I worked them up just for you.

As long as the crowd is willing
As long as I’m still killing
As you can still hear the applause
There is plenty of righteous cause
To keep the orchestra playing.
That’s all that I am saying.
I promise you won’t regret
That I am not quite done yet.
I’m not quite done yet.

There is an ancient woman
In the market near my home
Who walks the timeless amble
Of a battered soul alone.
Her pasted orange tresses
A marmalade cascade
Fall so stiffly down to where
Her hand is always laid
Clutching her treasure bag
She goes her way careless
Ignoring chiding glances
At her faded evening dress.

Her story hides in rumors
Whispered by those who work
In the shops and restaurants
Here near McArthur Park.
They say she was a movie queen
Or an extra in the silent days
And an accident at the studio
Made her bald unto this day.
She refused to remove the wig
She ran out crying, in costume
And now she is still wearing it
Hoping he will find her soon.

The woman at the pharmacy
Said her hair caught on fire
At a movie in the twenties
Her boss calls her a liar;
Says the leading man did it
In a fit of rage and jealousy
When she wouldn't marry him
He set fire to the scenery.
Others heard that she was fired,
But she wouldn't leave the set
So deep inside her mind
She really hasn't left it yet.

Some have tried to talk to her
But she never speaks that much
Except inquiring prices and colors
Of the goods she chances to touch.
To direct questions and advances
She turns sadly away and leaves.
You can tell she is sensitive
You can tell by her face she grieves.
It is easy to see she is living
In some world that is not ours
Her world seems a place of gloom
Of thunderstorms and showers.

She caresses with her fingertips
Along the banisters she passes
And she seldom lets her gaze linger
Behind her smoked sunglasses.
Her satin dress has faded,
Like the color of her hair.
She still lingers in each moment
When she walks down the stair.
She never seems to notice those
Who stop and goggle at her
And they are many, these gawkers
But they just don’t' seem to matter.

She seems to have accepted
What her life has now become.
She has been coming to the park
For decades more than some.
This may be a playground
For popeyed urban gnomes.
But this is where she shops
This decaying place her home.
This park is very much like her
Many ages past its prime.
The vestiges of past glory
Have not been erased by time.

Listen friends and neighbors
As I do my best here to tell
Of some of the animals which
Reside in this jungle hell.
Some may look harmless
But can eat you all alive.
And many for no reason
Prefer you do not survive.

One is so horribly large
It can fall on you and end
Any chance you may have
To become its loyal friend.
It’s the smarmily gracious
Nearly total waste of *****,
Cringingly contumacious
Pusillanimous pachyderm.

It blunders around the jungle,
Often the danger is crushing.
It cares not for little folks, it
Only cares where it is rushing.
The other creatures around
Are annoyances in its way
And it really doesn’t care much
What they might have to say.

Of course, there are donkeys
Of many different classes
But try as each of them may
They always act like *****.
They bray but acquiesce
As long as they get their hay,
And do their absolute best to
Stay out of the pachyderm’s way.

And of course, the chameleons
Who cleverly change their look
So they can hide in plain sight.
No chances were ever took.
They hide among the foliage
And only come out to eat
And stay out from under the
All of the larger animal’s feet.

The pachyderms are herd animals.
They learned to stick together
So, few are clever enough to
Face them down in any weather.
But there are these little creatures
That use tricks and some tools
To take the occasional beast down
Though animals think them fools.

Then there are the tigers as well
And they must be well considered
Because like the pachyderms
They work very well together.
But they won’t often take on those
Huge beasts with the long trunks.
They are smart enough to choose
Their dinner in smaller chunks.

So, the lesson here is for you
To move carefully, don’t bungle.
It may look like a lush and green,
But for reals, it is just a jungle.
The beasts will make short work
Of humans whenever we weaken.
So, don’t walk blindly around.
Remember, it’s you or them!

Don’t believe when humans tell you
Kitty fairies aren’t for real.
They exist and we can see them
No matter how you humans feel.
We, as kitties, use our brains
To protect and defend us all.
We can see things you can’t
And we can hear their fairy calls.

Kitty fairies think they’re clever;
That no one else can see them,
But we cats are on our guard.
Sort of like fuzzy policemen.
We stand prepared to whip them;
They won’t get by with a thing.
We consider them rather like
Nothing less than pests with wings.

But they messed up by coming
Into our own personal territory.
When we get one in our paws
That will end their silly story.
We might play with them a bit
For the first couple of laps
But after that, we will sing
The kitty version of ‘Taps’

So, if you see us sitting calmly
Then suddenly we leap right up
And chase around rather wildly
And knock over your coffee cup,
It’s because we can see them
Some flitting fairy on the wing.
That you can’t see kitty fairies
Doesn’t really mean a thing.

One night in December,
The streets were army gray
And hurrying strangers
Rushed home for the day.
Nimble legged salesmen
Sold flowers by the street
And rhythm was the rumble
Of voices cars and feet.

The young were dressed for parties
Some sang with radios
And over-friendly women
Assumed their favorite pose.
Trashcan colored beggars
Searched gutters with their hands
While uniforms saved sinners
With sermons songs and bands.

Patrolmen sang the pop songs
From slowly cruising vans
As nighttime changes faces
Pushers change their plans.
The movie marquee lightning
Put movement to the sound
As nameless children squabbled
For pennies they had found.

Uptown they're making movies
For Hollywood L.A.
They listen to the sirens
Downtown far away.
The Civic Center phantoms
Are easy to forget.
Folks simply close their eyes
And they haven’t seen them yet.
They haven’t seen them yet.

I am really not passible
Just **** as possible
For a well-worn *****.
And, they call me Missy
Because I don’t think I can
Act like a masculine man
So spare me your hissy fit
Go someplace and get over it.

I can walk well in high heels
Don’t need any training wheels.
My taste in clothes is excellent
Not the slightest bit recalcitrant.
I’m fully into the new club scene
About half way to a drag queen.
One more piece of women’s wear
I’ll be ready to go about anywhere.

My movements are very delicate
And that is, of course, deliberate.
You get more if you advertise
And some assets I can’t disguise.
I’m six feet tall in my stocking feet
As spicy as Red Hots and twice as sweet.
If you don’t like your she-girls tall
Then you don’t know what’s good at all.

You’ll find me in cabarets, everywhere.
We’ll be up at the bar or in a chair
Showing off our legs and swinging
Lip-synching the words the juke is singing.
We’ll appreciate a drink, if you are buying,
We’ll make your day complete without trying.
We’re full of fun and know lots of jokes.
We’re a short vacation for the right blokes.

It makes me angry
To see how many people
Don’t act like they are good
Outside the church and steeple.
It’s like someone is keeping book
On how often they appear there
And saying they love Jesus
Is all anyone should care.

There is no holiness in pretending,
When the sins are never-ending.
When the way you choose to walk
Is not the way you choose to talk.

It’s pretty scary
To watch what is happening here
When speeches like Goebbells
And the Nazis is what we hear.
When not speaking the party line
And regular people are demonized
Walk hand-in-hand with rich dreams
And high class crooks are lionized.

It’s called hypocrisy.
The friend of theocracy
For those that feel better
But just follow by the letter.

The first thing the Nazis did
Was take over the popular press
Then made the party philosophy
A religion and that started the mess.
Helping the poor, friending too
Was outlawed for those they hate.
They were made to look like criminals
And unpatriotic outlaws of the state.

There is no holiness in pretending,
When the sins are never-ending.
When the way you choose to walk
Is not the way you choose to talk.

And all was done under the banner,
The blessing of the Christian flag.
They murdered every single
Jew, Communist and those called ***.
They created new chants and songs
And verses so people could sing along
And raise a salute to the elite.
And soon there was nobody to defeat.

It’s called hypocrisy.
The friend of theocracy
For those that feel better
But just follow by the letter.

Lie cheat and steal
Fascism is totally real
What deals are they cooking
When none of us is looking?
**** **** and destroy
The fascist version of joy.
Buy a few ****** congressmen
Start the whole thing over again.

Washington DC is always run
By sellouts and crooks, every one.
It you want things to not be the same
Do something about changing the game.
Find out where your representatives
Go to play, to bank and live,
If they seem to be able to walk
Totally different than they talk.

Keep the waters murky and hazy
Because the voters are so lazy.
Tell a bunch of lies on TV
Nobody cares about reality.
They think celebrity shows
Are the way life really goes.
That is, of course, because
Nobody notices the cameras.

Washington DC is always run
By sellouts and crooks, every one.
It you want things to not be the same
Do something about changing the game.
Find out where your representatives
Go to play, to bank and live,
If they seem to be able to walk
Totally different than they talk.

Washington DC is always run
By sellouts and crooks, every one.
It you want things to not be the same
Do something about changing the game.
Find out where your representatives
Go to play, to bank and live,
If they seem to be able to walk
Totally different than they talk.

An important thing for us to remember
Is to act like Christmas beyond December.
Peace on earth, and good will to men
Should need a certain date to begin.
It should be going on all the time.
The same with theft and other crime.
Our virtue as a nation will come up short
If all we care about is our favorite sport.

You put my head up
Among the stars
And help me hear
The cosmos sing.

To me it was epiphany
But it didn’t mean a thing
To you, at least not enough
To realize I was enchanted
Like a school kid of twelve
With that first strong crush
That turns the heart to mush
And the knees to jelly.

It puts a fire in the belly
That time can’t quench.
I felt my gut wrench
And clench and flatten out
So much I felt a shout
Coming on like a scream
But felt that would seem
To make me look insane.

I am doing it all again,
That childhood love attack
Was dragging me back
And away from today
When my heart wanted to say
Words that meant something,
But to you nothing.

My head is still in the stars
Which must be where you are
Because you are not here.
Nowhere near any more
I was just a love chore
And, your work done
You are gone.

Jammin’ with Mammon.
Hyped to the max.
Finding those loopholes
Paying no tax.
Slammin’ for Mammon.
Foreclosing on life.
You died too soon?
We’ll tax your wife.

Jammin’ with Mammon
The world by the tail.
Lie cheat and swindle
Don’t worry about bail.
Swimmin' like salmon
Against the stream.
Dealing from the bottom;
Living the dream.

Slammin’ for Mammon;
Trample the rest.
Get first and last from
The community chest.
No famine for Mammon;
Let the poor starve.
**** the fatted calf and
Get ready to carve.

Jammin’ with Mammon
As good as it gets.
No room for conscience
Or squishy regrets.
Slammin’ for Mammon
Means money is king.
Don’t count the victims,
Just get the brass ring.

You’re a bumper riding
Traffic sliding
Maniac on wheels.
You make me want to
Back up into you
So you know how it feels.
You’re a narcissistic
Unrealistic
Self-important brat.
Somebody needs to
Bend you over a knee
To show you where it’s at.

You may be a good daddy at home
And your family is glad to see you.
But when you get behind the wheel
Other drivers are sad to see you.

You zip around us fast
Breaking traffic laws.
And flipping us the finger
If you get a blow out
Or maybe hit a tree
Perhaps nobody will linger.
We’ll shake our heads
We might call the cops
And sadly report the wreck,
But to tell the honest truth
It’s hard to feel sorry if your
Rudeness breaks your neck.

You may be a loving hubby at home
But not out on the street,
The way you treat your neighbors
Is anything but sweet.

If there is anything to karma
And of course, to dharma
You will get yours soon.
The payback should eventually
Teach you not to be so much like
The Creature from the Black Lagoon.
What’s the hurry anyway?
Where are you rushing to
In your hiked-up truck?
You’re not dead yet
Thus so far you haven’t run
Through your streak of luck.

I’m sliding down the ladder of life
Doing the Jacob thing in reverse.
Most of the people I meet now
Are either medical doctors or a nurse.
I’m in that phase where my hearing
Is about as good as my vision.
I don’t walk all that well at all
Due to my aging condition.

That’s the way things sometimes go
You might be clueless or you might know.
There may be signs so you can guess
Or you may find yourself a total mess.

Looking back over who I have been,
Like most of the young, I didn’t forsee
Or take much to heart the chances
That things like this would happen to me.
I thought myself invulnerable and
Incapable of ever growing old
Callously heeding no elders’s words
I simply refused to be told.

I thought the warnings I heard
Were from some clueless wags
And burned candles at both ends
Until the wick began to sag.

Now the creamy sooth skin,
Or what version I once ever had,
Begins to betray with brown spots,
And I admit it once made me mad.
But I have managed to accept
Many of the shortcomings of tomorrow.
It’s the loss of mobility I dislike;
That delivers me so much sorrow.

Hut, two, three, four
What do you think you are fighting for?
Four, five, six, seven
Invasion is the path to heaven.
Seven, eight, nine, ten
If it doesn’t work, do it again.
Six, seven, eight, nine
If innocents die too, never mind.

We need to clean things
Wipe lessers out of the place.
They’re a total threat and
Weaken our beloved race.
We don’t have time
For anyone sick or poor
We must go somewhere
And fight unreasonable war.

Helping the weak and sick
Costs too much money to allow.
Besides, there are among us
Suffering rich people right now.
This land owes it all to the rich
So, we must do all we can
To support them with each pitch.

So, hut, two, three, four,
Now you know what we’re fighting for.
Three, four, five, six
Now, none of your liberal tricks.
Five, six, seven, eight.
Don’t question your betters, that’d be great.
Hut, two, three, four
We are who you are fighting for!

He was the meanest kid on the playground
If the kid he picked on was half of his size.
He abused his playmates if they were weak
Had freckles or wore glasses on their eyes.
He was not a handsome lad in any way.
It was almost like he took it out on the world
That none of the guys wanted to play with him
And he seldom got lucky with the girls.

There was the slightest hint of intelligence
But it was always of the devious kind.
Nobody ever thought this kid would turn out
To be the type to make fortunes with his mind.
Taking little kids lunch money from them
Was why he even went to school each day.
If he looked a bit older and wasn’t lazy
He might just have hid out and run away.

He didn’t play ball or do any kind of work
And his mom waited on him hand and foot.
You could tell when he reached legal age
He’d find a woman who would follow suit
And treat him like a six foot baby brat
As if he was a gift to the whole world.
Of course he was in luck there because
It’s easy to hook up with  that kind of girl.

At work he will call all the women sweetie
And soundly slap his cohorts on their backs.
He’ll always remember his boss’s birthday
It pays to keep the important things on track.
If he can block a promotions of co-workers
Who are not Caucasian and Christian,
He will stick to his hidebound beliefs
And stick to ideas of The Dominion.

And if this reprobate ever has children
They will grow up to be just like him;
They’ll subject siblings and playmates
To their own temperament and whim.
Because bullying is passed by parents
From their parents to their own children.
And bullying adheres to no rules about
Morality, propriety, intelligence or wisdom.

How many are there?
I doubt anyone is aware
At least half the population;
A fact that should really scare
And yet decades go by
And they still don’t awaken
And now our trust in them
Is powerfully and fatally shaken.

It’s the Narcissistic Generation
And it could mean the death
Of freedom and democracy
With one last dying breath
Because like most committees
The members are the kind of jerks
Who want all the goodies
But will not ever do the work.

We have a country of slackers
Who were raised to be spoiled fools
Who want all the structure made
But will not pick up one tool.
So if this country falls apart
And becomes a dream of history
For me and people like myself
It will be no amazing mystery.

The USA will falter silently
And maybe fall over and die
And none of the people responsible
Will admit they’re the reason why.
It will not be done by foreigners
The way warmongers always cried.
Instead it will be by malingerers;
Self-inflicted by the dunces inside.

T. Ronald Dump
Thought he had a jump
On all this messy "prezzy" biz
Which took us to the precipice
Of our national destruction
With one skewed election.
A **** with bad elocution
Is in charge with no solutions.

A fool got elected
Now we are all unprotected
From taking a journey
Turning this into **** Germany
Because he knows well
That in a short spate of hell
He will make tons of money
And he finds that so funny.

Meanwhile we are dying
And without any trying
He will take a great thing
And leave it gasping
For that last healthy breath
While he watches the death
And with one of his ugly sighs
Blames it on the other guys.

Those of us who are old
Needed heeding when told
That this was very ugly old news.
We saw it happen to the Jews
The intellectuals and gays
In the not so distant days
Of scary World War Two
And now it will happen to you.

T. Ronald Dump
Thought he had a jump
On all this messy "prezzy" biz
Which took us to the precipice
Of our national destruction
With one skewed election.
A **** with bad elocution
Is in charge with no solutions.

This is the tale, too often told
Of the idiots and the bums
And why those silly fools applaud
Whenever the apocalypse comes.
When things get good for common folk
Those in power get extremely worried.
They fear people will discover where lies
All the freedoms the rich people buried.

They were aware, while the populace isn’t
Of the changes they made in the laws;
That the elite put in place corruption
Where opportunity so recently was.
The poorly-named Conservatives
Quietly  un-conserved the truth
In order to tie the hands of men
And proselytize our gullible youth.

They vilified and imprisoned those
Among the un-bribed journalists
And went right on stealing from us
And having their illicit trysts.
Those who knew they could not rule
Unless they made villains of heroes
Bought their way to power with
Wiith numbers and many zeroes.

The populace was fed huge lies
About how horribly poor we all were,
Implying we were no better off
Than cavemen wearing only fur.
They taught the stupid among us
All of the idiots and the bums,
That they had the only answers,
That they could reverse the sums.

The idiots are easy to understand
They are looking for some answers.
The bums sit back and let it happen
And never get their stuff together.
The bums decide everything is fine
Until they lose their jobs and houses
And then the *** and idiot both;
What to do? He whines and grouses.

Meanwhile even more of the wealth
That it would take to fix our land
Rotated even more back and forth
Between the same few hands.
This is what happens every time,
This is the cycle that repeats here
Defeating progress and smashing hope
Year after Conservative year.

The conservative element in DC
Has something else as priority.
It sure is not you, nor is it me.
It’s a much more powerful constituency:
Those who pull strings do not care
Unless you are a multi-millionaire
And contribute to their greedy cause
Like some kind of Santa Claus.

They keep on doing what they’re doing
******* who they were *******
I would explain it all if I could
But sometimes words do no good.
Behind all the gobbledy ****
Someone is not playing by the book.
Winning with lies is what they are trying
To make the true facts look like lying.

They keep you so confused that you
You believe what they want you to,
So you won’t see behind their wiles
To bring their larcenous ***** to trial.
Dignifying public rumors of buggery
You look away from skullduggery.
A few insignificant happenstances
Eclipse treasonous circumstances.

You ***** about gays and abortion
While conservatives commit extortion
And persecution in Jesus’ name.
To them it’s all a ratings game.
If you don’t care what people feel
You lose all track of what is real.
You turn into a tool for deception;
A dupe of sleight-of-hand misdirection.

As long as things are as they are
We’ll get run over by the clown car
Which is the Congress currently seated.
And as long as they remain undefeated
The rules will leave the deck stacked.
Nobody in DC will have our backs.
Why should they care about our whim
When the way it is benefits them?

We need one item, one bill rules
Or we end up the same beaten fools.
We need campaign funding to be equal
Or each election becomes a sequel
To what happened with Gore and Bush
When backdoor politics bit us in the ****.
The only way change will ever come around
Is to take the loopholes from these clowns.

It used to be fun, loving on the sly.
An exciting time, but I don’t know why.
What was so thrilling about it all then?
Nothing to be proud of. Not very zen.
Sneaking and giggling like a fool
Only proves to me now I was a tool.
But for those of me raised in that time
Being gay and ***** was a big crime.

Even now, many say they don’t mind it
But if I have to be gay, I must be quiet.
Don’t talk about my time with a guy.
If I have to do that, do it on the sly.
They invent unclever euphemisms
And further deepen the ****** schism
That says we are good and you’re not
At least according to the family I’ve got.

They’ll just wink and dig with an elbow
And that’s they way they want it to go.
Of course, even better, just don’t say
That you I am one of those, you know, gay?
We’ll all know stuff, we don’t want to know.
We won’t discuss your twisted shame, oh no.
We'll just gossip with each other about it
And none of us in any way will ever doubt it.

After all, the bible I didn’t read condemns it
So, even though more of society permits it
It really isn’t right, they condemn me to hell.
Oh, I have heard this lame tale that they tell.
Of course, I read that book and they’re wrong.
They changed the story as time went along.
But they’d know all that if they took a look
And actually read their religion’s book.

So, decades ago, I changed my thoughts
And now use on them what they have taught.
I nudge and wink and agree not to discuss
The crap they do and their errors about us.
I don’t ask them with who they are cheating
Or other Christian teaching they are defeating
By paying attention to the mote in my eye
By my love for a perfectly respectable guy.

You would think
A fool who always lies
Would finally surmise
He is known to be unwise
In most other people’s eyes.

You would think
A snake in the grass
Would not have an ***
But it comes to pass
That some are all ***.

You would think
A pile of dog manure
Would smell himself for sure
And that would insure
To show that he's not pure.

You would think
A **** so full of hate
Would not aspire to be great
And instead would wait
Until humility reached his gate.

You would think
Being socially quite blind
No ability to be quite kind
Would someday soften the rind
Of almost any creep you’d find.

You would think
With so many tramps around
And unfunny political clowns
Someone would knock him down;
Teach him something on the ground.

You would think
Some lesson would be due
To give this reprobate a clue
And help him know what to do,
But that might never come true.

When the world glistens with rain
There is beautiful color in the skies.
You don’t need some technology.
You only need to open your eyes.

Your eyes fill with color
That’s the way it goes;
When it rains don’t cry,
Just look for the rainbows.

The landscape alone is great
The sun shining after a rain.
The rainbow throughout history
Means good times come again.

Sometimes a rainbow
Is not easily found.
But you never will find one
With your eyes to the ground.

When the passersby are grumpy
And just maybe you are too.
It can cheer things up a bit
Adding color to skies of blue.

Your eyes fill with color
That’s the way it goes;
When it rains don’t cry,
Just look for the rainbows.

Sometimes a rainbow
Is not easily found.
But you never will find one
With your eyes to the ground.

I want to find those liars
That call themselves statesmen
And smack their faces
And take by the country’s *****
Because they have stolen
The innocence of every one of us
And pushed us off a cliff
In their ******* conservative bus.

Tap, tap, slap, slap
Kick them in the ****.
Tap them, slap them
I will tell you what.
Beat them, cheat them
Show them how it feels.
Bounce them, trounce them
Knock them off their wheels.

It’s the work of the devil
To behave the way they do.
Doesn’t seem to be an end
To the crap they put us through.
They are minions of evil
Paid to make our lives worse.
I would push the magic button
And make it happen in reverse.

Tap, tap, slap, slap
Kick them in the ****.
Tap them, slap them
I will tell you what.
Beat them, cheat them
Show them how it feels.
Bounce them, trounce them
Knock them off their wheels.

There is something wrong
That they outgrew any conscience.
They point the finger at gays
But really, they are the deviants.
They re-wrote the holy books
So they come out the winner
And the rest of our country
Ends up as the dog’s dinner.

Tap, tap, slap, slap
Kick them in the ****.
Tap them, slap them
I will tell you what.
Beat them, cheat them
Show them how it feels.
Bounce them, trounce them
Knock them off their wheels.

I would write a poem
That would change your world.
But, first you have to want
Your world to be changed.
I would write you a poem
That would find you true love
But that would change your world
And the result would be the same.

I’d write a rhymed sonnet
Worthy of Will Shakespeare
Talking about the strength
That love can give to you.
I could parse it in pentameter
And lilting phrases of pictographia
If I thought that word work
And if I thought that would do.

I’d speak of clearing your mind
And setting your spirit inner free
To caress your soul into harmony
Both within you and without you.
I’d urge you to practice yoga
And other exotic disciplines
If that would help you understand
What wonders your mind can do.

But in that poem, I would need
To practice some kind of magic
To make you set your toys aside
And focus on what is important.
I would need to show clearly
In the simplest of phrases,
That living life honestly can charm
If you remove all that is discordant.

I would write you such a poem
That repeating it out loud would
Let you be happy with being you
And let you give up being proud
Or lazy or arrogant or angry
And clear your horizons away
Of any roadblocks or envy
And remove every dark cloud.

I guess I’m a different sort
A kind of jiggle-free ******;
When the fun turns to money
I always choose to go.
I have no beef with prostitutes,
Some are great at having fun.
It’s just when it comes to me
I’d rather see than be one.

I am usually flat broke
Not a dollar to my name.
It’s almost like saving up
Has never been my game.
I know I could maybe do well
By snuggling someone wealthy,
But I know people who did that
And it never worked out healthy.

I guess I’m a different sort
A kind of jiggle-free ******;
When the fun turns to money
I always choose to go.
I have no beef with prostitutes,
Some are great at having fun.
It’s just when it comes to me
I’d rather see than be one.

I’d much rather just play around
And see what happens then.
I don’t plan and I don’t demand,
I don’t insist we do it all again.
I might be gone when you wake
Off to have new adventures.
I don’t care if my wandering ways
Are looked upon with abject censure.

I say it up front, so no heartbreak,
I tell you please don’t to marry me.
I pay my own way and sleep where I wish.
I don’t need anyone to carry me.
If you see me down the road a ways
And I’m behaving some other way instead;
Not the jiggle-free ******, I am normally
Then bury me, it means I’m dead

I guess I’m a different sort
A kind of jiggle-free ******;
When the fun turns to money
I always choose to go.
I have no beef with prostitutes,
Some are great at having fun.
It’s just when it comes to me
I’d rather see than be one.

Brent Kincaid
4/28/2019

He’s like a ham actor
Who has only one goal
To see himself in
The starring role.
Talent doesn’t matter
As long as he is zealous.
If he bombs it’s because
Everyone else is jealous.

He goes flap, flap his yap
But be careful, it’s a trap.
He loves to holler up a storm.
But has no talent to perform.

He thinks he is a superstar
Just waiting to be crowned.
Others say behind his back
He’s nothing but a clown.
All he needs is a big red nose
And he’s working ******* that.
He thinks he’s the big ****,
But really, he’s just a pratt.

He goes moan, moan and groan
But leave him totally alone
And while he swears he is fine
He will fail to remember his lines.

All the world is a stage, it’s true
So politics is like theater, too.
And this poor clown with big feet
Tries to deliver his speeches sweet
But his lies trip him in the last scene.
He ends up looking false and mean.

He lies and lies his lullabies
And tries to act so famously wise.
But he only fools the less than bright.
The rest know he’s just not right.

Touch me
Like you can’t hardly stand it,
Like you really truly mean it,
Like you can’t control your hand, it
Just wants to reach out for me
And caress me so tenderly
Just to let me know
You love me so.

Touch me
And let me know your feeling
That I’m more than just appealing
That I set your senses reeling
And nothing is going right
If you’re not with me tonight.
I will understand
From the touch of your hand.

Touch me
The most gentle of caresses
Like smothering with kisses.
A magic moment like this is
What life is all about
So, let’s not leave it out.
Don’t let it pass us by
It’s easy if you try.

Touch me
Now nothing else will do
To make one out of us two.
That’s why I’m asking you
It’s the greatest thing you can do
Pull me close to you.
Hold me and kiss me
But, baby, just touch me.

Go on, young soldier
Go where we say and die.
Take this gun and shoot,
Don’t bother to ask why.
Carry on this war we wage
Though it doesn’t make sense.
We invade anyone we want
And then call it all defense.

Go on, airmen and women.
Climb into expensive planes.
Fly over countries, drop bombs.
Don’t expect anyone to explain.
Line up ground targets well
In your high-power sights.
We have declared them enemies
And they don’t have rights.

Sail on, you navy people.
Turn their seas into ours.
Help our country reduce them
To rubble and dead in mere hours.
Transport equipment and personnel
And help them change things,
Then go to free ports on R and R
And buy your sweethearts rings.

Tromp on, military machine.
Make the world into the USA.
After all, they’re just wogs
And don’t have a thing to say.
If they were worthwhile people
They would be from back home.
Places like Akron, L.A. and Nome.

But they are not real people or
They would not get in our way
And try to stop our holy advance
To be the only people to stay.
When this endless war is done
We will be all that remains.
Be part of the American way, and
**** or get killed for your pains.

We should throw a party and then
Dump a Trump
Give Trump lumps
Make him jump.
Drag him over the same kind of bumps
He dragged us and laughed at us.

Dump a Trump!
Deserves a massive thump;
He’s a whiny grump!
Dump a Trump!
Anyone who has the name of Trump
Should kiss our collective ****!

We should get together and just
Dump a Trump
Oust that schlump
To the city dump.
Treat him like he treated those before
And send him home on a city bus.

Dump a Trump!
Deserves a massive thump;
He’s a whiny grump!
Dump a Trump!
Anyone who has the name of Trump
Should kiss our collective ****!

Let's call a convention and
Dump a Trump!
He’s a festering clump
As dim as Forest Gump.
New Yorkers call him a stupid ****.
We hope all see that he is finally busted
That his former shine is obviously rusted.

Dump a Trump!
Deserves a massive thump!
He’s a whiny grump!
Dump a Trump!
Anyone who has the name of Trump
Should kiss our collective ****!

Sing a song of slick men
Pocket full of lies.
Four and twenty fat cats
Terribly unwise.
When the truth was spoken
They don’t even try.
They’re immune to reason
And they get all the pie.

Sing a song of no sense
And how they persevere
How they get elected
Year after year
Still they have no scruples;
Ethically impure,
They still win out in the polls.
Why is still unclear.

We should build a big fence
And lock them all inside.
Then impound their fortunes
Wherever they hide.
Let them see for sure how
Crooks we can’t abide.
See if they can stand each other
Living side by side.

Sing a song of statesmanship
Nearly gone extinct
Senators and gangsters
Not so distinct.
The rich still had their millions
We lost the kitchen sink.
Brought us all to near defeat
And pushed us near the brink.

I was moaning softly
So you would not hear.
I do it every moment
When you are not near.
It’s like I’m emptied out
In the blink of an eye.
All I want to do is to
Sit right here and cry.

I want you to stay
Don’t want you to go
But you’ve got your life
So, what do I know?
If I were the one who
Was just perfect for you
You’d stay by my side
My dream would come true.

I pretend in front of you
So you don’t even know
How much I miss you
Every time you go.
I know it’s silly of me
You have broken no vows
But that doesn’t help me
When I feel as I feel now.

I’m hurting inside myself
And I’m missing your touch,
Your kiss and your smile
Came to mean so much.
I hate sounding needy
Even though it’s a fact.
I’m so much in love that
I don’t know how to act.

I want you to stay
Don’t want you to go
But you’ve got your life
So, what do I know?
If I were the one who
Was just perfect for you
You’d stay by my side
My dream would come true.

Soccer moms and sander scars
Suburban life is strange.
Play dates and in-line skates
Schedules to re-arrange.
Yoga teachers and lay preachers
And those are not a metaphor.
Costco trips and air-kiss lips
Nobody trusts a bachelor.

Coupon savers in SUVs
Never use turn signals.
Driving while chatting hands-free
Wearing golden **** whistles.
Appointments to make daily
With exercise gurus.
Cocktail luncheons for charity
Toddlers wearing tutus.

Traffic jams of cars and vans
Honking at each other.
Double parking on narrow streets
Calling each other mothers.
Starting out fifteen minutes late
As is the usual way.
Somehow never figuring out how
To have an on-time day.

Screeching home a night in time
To throw together a meal.
Watch television with family
And pretend that is all real.
Put the kids to bed right on time
Try to have quality time.
While the other half is half-asleep
From that second glass of wine.

You idiots!
You unconscionable poltroons!
Your minds have the intelligence
Of helium filled balloons!
You had a chance to save us
But when it came down to the wire
You chose to let a circus clown
Win the race and play with fire.

Who could know you have learned
Nothing at all from before
When you elected those two morons
Run the show while you snored?
Who could guess that people who
Claim to be so Christian and good,
Would act like from the ears up
They were made entirely of wood?

You imbeciles!
Do you not see what you have done?
You chose a man who seems to think
Lying and embezzling are great fun.
You did not choose the candidate
With experience and knowledge;
You chose the guy who swindled those
Who signed up for his bogus college!

Millions of us with wisdom predicted
This man who praises Vladimir Putin
Would want to start World War Three
Because he is so fond of shooting!
He thinks, without a bit of experience,
He can simply put on another act
And all the rest of the world will
See his mad delusions as facts.

You chowderheads!
You have sold your country out!
Later when it all falls apart
You'll blame someone else and pout.
Now you cheer and chant USA,
And pretend you are so ****** brave
The rest of us fear for the world
And hope there is something to save.

Many of my poems are snarky
And I know it.
Some things make me ******
And I show it.

Some people are beneath contempt
Puff out their chests, think they’re exempt
But at the bottom of it all, they’re ****.
They count on people at large to be dumb
And deaf and blind to their ugly tricks.
People give up thinking they can fix
The atrocities perpetrated on society.
They get physically sick at the impropriety
And villainy these criminals get by with;
Two tongues in each mouth politicians lie with.

Many of my poems are painful
And I know it.
Some things make me disdainful
And I show it.

I’d perhaps take up haiku poems or calligraphy
If there wasn’t so much ignominy around me.
My trusted representatives are lying to me
And are doing so daily with total impunity.
It’s disgusting and even more, its treason.
And most of the time, they have no reason
Other than rampant compulsions and greed.
So, what better excuse would they need
To betray every concept they claim to believe?
Is that why there’s never going to be a reprieve?

Many of my poems are political
And I know it.
Some things make me analytical
And I show it.

It works because we reward tinhorn crooks
And let them alter all our history books
To either pretend they never existed
Or to act like they ever have resisted
Any momentum to remove the rights
Of those who were not born white
Or rich, or straight, or Republican
Then, the next Congress starts again.
I’ll stop being a ***** about all this
When they stop offering their *** for me to kiss.

Many of my poems are snarky
And I know it.
Some things make me ******
And I show it.

The old man groans as he gets up,
Rising from the chair is a job.
He notices now he is getting older
His head is developing a bob.
Not quite Katharine Hepburn,
Not a nod as much as a bounce.
It’s not a palsy, more of a tic.
It’s not really that pronounced.

And stairs seem to be an enemy
They don’t match the cadence.
Between the risers and his feet
There just too much distance.
Or other times, they are too short
And rise up as an ugly surprise
Not coinciding with what he sees
With his own aging naked eyes.

The man complains about TV
How they are mumbling too much.
They seem to be whispering
Or using foreign words and such.
And when he turns the sound up
The action scenes hurt his ears.
A ***** trick to play on people
Who are a bit advanced in years.

The old man gets disgruntled
When people outside make noise
Like they are some kind of teenagers;
But they’re adults, not girls and boys.
Here it is ten o’clock at night
When decent people are asleep.
What kind of schedule is this
For decent people to have to keep?

What is he to make of the music
These young people like to play?
It has to be some kind of abuse
To use a guitar in that way.
In his day there was melody
And words you could understand.
The noise they make is like a collision
Between a dump truck and a sedan.

The old man grumbles in frustration
That things have not stayed the same.
He would write a letter to the President
If he could figure out who to blame.
But one thing sure, he always insists,
It didn’t use to be this way before.
Now a kind of anarchy seems to exist.