I apologize in advance.
For the stale cliches,
mixed metaphors,
lack of metaphor,
for the generic flowers,
the pretty butterflies,
the mountains that
inevitably invite climbing,
for the references
to Icarus and Sisyphus,
for the name dropping
and dubious allusions,
for the lack of creativity
and imagination,
for the lack of skill,
for the lack of distinction,
for everything my poems
are not and never will be

"That was wack,"
the twenty something said,
referring to something I can't
even begin to remember
and it was the first time
I'd heard someone say it
without air quotes
or an ironic smirk
outside of the movies
and someone else called
him on it, saying "that was wack
to call that (whatever it was) wack,
and, so, the argument was on,
because the word itself
was already on the verge of passe
even for a bunch of bored
small town white boys who
were not remotely hip or gangsta
until somebody passed around
a joint and we forgot all about it

I'm fine with them until they start
******* and pooping all over the place.

Check out those filthy hippos,
in the zoo or in the wild,
flagrantly crapping themselves
on land or, worse, in water swimming
through their own ****.

But, oh, those sweet, darling animals.

Okay, I dislike the idea of eating them
or stealing their milk but my patience
is sorely tested by the lazy cow
who couldn't be bothered to step out
of the middle of the river before
unleashing a thick stream of ****
that went on and on and on while
placidly eyeing our approaching canoes.

And I was going to go swimming later.

Monkeys hurling feces.
Horses, pigs and chickens fouling
their own nests, stepping
in their own crap again and again
even when they could easily avoid it.

I suspect that, given the chances, they'd
foul up the planet as badly as we have.

The believer said:
"Denying the possibility
of an almighty God
exhibits an almost willful
lack of imagination."

To his credit,
the atheist agreed.

Dear Jorie Graham:

I have called your poems
unreadable crap. Repeatedly.

I have referred to your work
as "page-*****" and proclaimed
you the biggest fraud
in the history of literature.
Such arrogance!

My apologies.
I was wrong.
I no longer believe that.

You will never read this.
Still, I wish you well.
I wish you health and a long life.

Now, excuse me while I put
on a dunce cap, sit in the corner
and shut my stupid mouth.

Bandits. Extortionists.
Corporate pirates.
The worst of the worst.

New year? They jack up the rates.
Springtime? They jack up the rates.
Summer? Autumn? Ditto.

Expenses the excuse.
Inflation the excuse.
Hell, they don't need an excuse,
they're Big Cable *******,
so **** it.

Customer Service?
Incompetent or worse,
rude aggressive, dismissive
and incompetent.
A joke.

Tired of dealing with you?
They hang-up or leave
you hanging. Dead air.
You're welcome Buddy.

Shameless. Insulting.

Done with the b------s.
Good-bye and good riddance!

On my deathbed,
my bony finger
will reach for
the keyboard
like Adam's finger
reaches out to God
in Michelangelo's famous
Sistine Chapel painting
and hit, "Delete All."