I'm flippant with
My fictional facts;
Patching words
Like a coverlet,
Designed with loom and needle.
I've stitched the lines,
Woven the words
To make them more credible.
But it's only a poem
To strike at the bone,
A source of strength
Who's vigor's unknown.
A garment to wear
With invisible seams:
Wrap it 'round you
If you choose to dream.

A scurry of munks
Are eating my garden;
To you they're cute,
But my heart's hardened.
They chirp at the trough
Of my labored crop;
Like double-dippers
They pouch and they run,
They sound like they're laughing,
Like they're having some fun.
I curse and complain,
But the munks keep returning,
Like a recurring refrain
Of free loaders and hoarders.
Should I feel such disdain?
After some thought,
We're much the same.

Love and disdain
Are two fruits
On the same
Clustered vine.
When picked
And fermented,
They make
Fine wine,
Or bitter vinegar.

Another gladiator fell
Watering the field in blood.
His head was sheathed,
He never cut through the net
That descended from the stands.
The iron-****** trident
Brought thumbs up from the spectators
Indulging in the beer and nuts.
There are always some to be sacrificed
To placate the mob in the colosseum
Beneath the night lights on Mondays,
When Coke is the drink of victors,
And jerseys are sold to the trainees
Who now put on their spikes.
These are ours
Running headlong into the arena.

She has tomato red lips,
And kale green eyes,
Strawberry cheeks,
And warm earthy thighs.
I tend to her daily,
My garden of delight,
And I'll harvest
My labor of love
Tonight.

What's this?
A set-up?
I never volunteered
To be the patsy.
A whipping boy?
Don't like the story line,
Or being the understudy
Of a flip side;
An expendable.
This is a con
In night gallery.

I'm in the crowd,
In the frame,
And the shot is printed.
Success at shutter speed.

Then you wrote a letter,
Started it endearingly,
Signed it with an old promise
That once was clear to me.

From this hypocrite
To all others,
Let's not pretend
We're all brothers.
Stop the smile,
Stop the shakes,
The vacuous pats,
The thumbs up signals
That we're great.
I know you haven't
Got my back.
Let's assume
We're new strangers;
Start again,
Yet still pretenders:
It still comes out the same.