our coolest babysitter lit a long joint and drove us to church
in her well worn '87 oldsmobile with chipped gold paint
a drooping side mirror and a tape player
that smelled like stale london gin mothballs
and a sunset butterfly heart at the same time
it had a deep ocean green calcite mandala
dancing from the windshield mirror
and a steal-your-face tattooed on the back glass
she used to blare brit-pop trying
to make the speakers bleed

that day when they finally oozed she swerved us
left through the other lane and sunday morning fog
to cut a jagged path through thick woods and into an oak tree
with a soundtrack of slow motion oasis and screeching tires
i clammored to the backseat to block the window
glass from your beautiful angelic blonde head as
dew sprayed into the vacancy from the ditch and
when i pulled the seatbelt spiderweb out of your mouth
and lifted you out of the car i was standing
barefoot in a cluster of bright red sumac next to
an ant hill pile of twisted steaming metal
and you were dripping blood from your eye and knees
asking me if we'd be late for sunday school
but you were awake and trying to smile so
we followed the powerlines back to the main road
holding hands dizzy and sweating
worried no one would ever find us
limping while the springtime songbirds
held their tongues for us but
when the hot ringing in my ears finally stopped
the sirens grew loud and close and the
birds too began their wet lipped eulogy

sometimes i think about
missing church that day
when the weather's bad
on nights like last night
sometimes i remember
our babysitter when
the fog rolls in over
the road in the morning
i wonder if she still
gets high on the
good stuff while
she drives or
if she's just
a treehugger

Did you pass me and honk?
Or yell at me while I rode my bike, “get a horse!”     right?
( Even as I had a 4-wheel drive beast sitting in the driveway),
I smile because steel and gasoline can be fun
but never,  made ME    free.

There ARE  things I’ve done
that still live in the dark corners of my inner self,
but the things I DID NOT do
that’s what this is all about.

The things YOU DO should make you CRINGE and
the sickest part is that they DON'T

See, it’s the games you don’t play,
the garbage boardroom songs you don’t download or listen to,
songs I didn’t sing,
lusting ****** from radios or halftime shows.
(Tay Tay is gross, she doesn’t care about you, just your money.)
You probably don’t get it though and never will.
K- pop bletch !

Not a single Bieber note
has ever slipped its talentless nubby paws into this skull.
I wouldn’t know a Britney or Beyoncé track
if it climbed through my window at 3 a.m.
and danced naked leaving a snail trail on the kitchen table
nor would I call THAT art.

I can’t justify wasting the time
to sit still for baseball,
a game that peaked before the radio.
Or let squeaky gang-member basketball
drone its repetitive pointless idiocy in the background
like a sermon from a greedy, confused preacher.
I never asked for ANY OF IT AND I REFUSE TO FUND IT.

I never stepped foot in a sportsball theatre,
never cared who " won ",  ( what do they  " win" , again ? )
because every penalty fest mislabeled as a game looks like a rerun
of someone else’s father’s sad beer-fueled failure.
I succeeded without a team, without their vicarious lies,
without a locker room full of ****, sweaty dudes
slapping each other’s butts and prancing around.

So no, I never listened to AM radio.
So no, I never voted for a Republican.
Not once. Not ever.

I don’t own a gun.
I’m proud I’m part of a white community
where I don’t need one.
I don’t sleep with bullets under my pillow
or polish metal like a greasy prayer.

I served my country proudly,
with a good conduct medal.
I don’t chase their enemies... anymore,
because the last of MY marks
are already reduced to bones somewhere far away,
and I don’t need revenge
the way I need to breathe.

I have no enemies.

I don’t need A.I. to write my poetry or my novels.
My music and my art speak for themselves
and do it well.

I don’t have a soul-stealing spy glued to my hand all day.
I don’t pay to have my phone lie to me and keep me
in an echo chamber
like you and yours. Look around.

My kids once thought I was made of stone and stardust.
They STILL  love AND  respect me.
I’m proud of their black belts and MBAs.
( We drive the Tesla for them, because of them.
Same with the 2 solar systems. )

So don’t worry about me.     Focus on you.
I’m okay separating my recyclables
while you waste your energy begging your invisible sky daddy
to forgive and love you
with NO  results.

I know,  I don’t have to lie    to me and mine
and that’s enough    to keep my chin held right.
So I sleep well
at night.


#Treehugger  ,  #hippie   #patriot   ,   #Liberal ,   #truth ,  #Life , #done ,