It is a porcelain battlefield
and I hear the
brown bodies drop
with a wet thwap.

I push and strain
against the pain
to purge this
unpleasant thang.

Prickly peanuts
thick and hard
tearing me up
as I yell
“Arrrrggggh.”

Hold on tight,
it’s one hell
of a fight.

A fearsome foe
falls once more.

Then I hear
civilians holler,
“God no
that’s so gross!”

“Oh no,
collateral damage!”
I think as
puffs of spray
are spritzed my way,
cause in the heat
of this hard-won battle,
I forgot to
shut the door.

Flint Michigan
still doesn’t have
clean water
to wash dishes in,
drink, or bath in.

But our president
can afford to
take expensive
vacations
almost every
weekend.

Puerto Rico is
still recovering
from a hurricane,

But we can
send foreign aid
to Israel
so, they oppress
Palestinians

Lots of people
on the street
going hungry,

But we can
afford tax cuts
for the extremely
wealthy.

Infrastructure
needs a lot of work,
veterans need
better healthcare
along with everyone
else that lives here,

But we can afford
billions in weapons
and spending on
more wars.

She writes sentiments
made to soften the hearts
of harden men and women.

In silent interludes
she scribbles
gentle syllables,

Rich whispers
fill my ears
hushing
the harsh pains
I feel
like torrential rains
on a raging forest fire.

I desire
to find
myself inspired
to write
something
as deep and beautiful.

I lust for larger words,
or perfected prose
to put something of me
and humanity
back into
the mind of strangers.

My civility and patience
is a burden that
hangs tightly
around my neck,

a constricting cord
that chokes me
till I am raw
with reserved rage.

Tiny tuffs
of black smoke and flames
burn me
from the inside out.

Till the pain of the world
drowns me
in a salty sea
of grief.

While others thrive off greed
profiting from pain and destruction,

I wait for some
sort of civil revolution,
or karmic retribution
that never strikes back;
Biting my tongue
till the red squirmy thing
just jumps right
out of me
and I cannot speak.

The tv is blaring
with the
big bad wolf scaring
three little pigs,
who manage to
get the jump
on him,
making me grin
when they win.

I see
other cartoon figures
get hit with
a TNT blast
if that was me
I wouldn’t come back.

All the ducks in a row
like Donald and Scrooge,
even got a black duck
who is a daffy dude.

All the laughter
is great,
this passionate pleasure
made frame by frame
eases my pain,
and remind me
how funny
****** up
**** can be.

Where do all the super heroes go?
Big bulging biceps,
pecs ready to
rip right through
in t-shirts
or super suits.

Moral quandaries,
social philosophies,
counter to expectation
these are not merely
masked muscle men
and women
we are facing,
but symbols.

Righteous warriors
going round for round
putting clowns into the ground,
or refusing to yield to
the urge to **** the few
big bad dudes
who wear ridiculous costumes to.

Guns and knives
squads of suicide
life on the edge of tomorrow,
but those forces are fragile
frightening forms as agile
as circus acrobats,
almost immortal
because they
always seem to come back.

These are merely
specters of mythic glory,
manifestations of our magnificent
imaginations,
panels of artistic exaggerations.
Truly, the inspiration
of my own self-creation
because in a world
without superheroes
I long to be one.

I am flesh and blood,
kin to the sins you refuse
as you waste your life
allowing yourself
to be misused.

A thousand pleasures
delayed or denied
by crooks who
have lied and pried
where they have
no right to.

They spite and smite you.
As you go through
early embalmment,
because you spent
your whole life
decaying prematurely,

That’s why
when you see me
I am still smiling,
laughing, and enjoying
all those forbidden fruits
you call sin.