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Brent Kincaid Apr 2016
When I was a little kid
My friends and I would play
At cowboys and Indians
In the barn with forts of hay.
We crafted guns from sticks
We found about the farm
And though we shot each other
We managed to come to no harm.

Bang, bang, bang! I got you!
No you didn’t, you missed!
The bullet whizzed by me!
You can’t see me in the mist!

Of course, if we were Indians
The same rules held true there.
You never managed to **** us
We never took your hair.
But, we knew we were villains
Because cowboys were king.
We didn’t even question it.
It was that sort of thing.

Bang, bang, bang. I got you!
Cowboys don’t ever cry.
We twist and dodge you redskins
So, don’t even bother to try.

Holding invisible reins, we rode
On our noble painted steeds.
We pretended it was the old West
Here in our playground of weeds.
Some of us had play weapons
Santa had brought to the lucky
But forcing improvisation only
Made us a lot more plucky.

Bang, bang, bang. I shot you.
You ***** lowdown rustler.
Oh, we thought of every dodge.
What young, clever hustlers.
Andy Cave Dec 2012
Redskins
Cowboys
Sunday night
Division
title
on the line.
Who will win
this massive
showdown
and enter
the playoffs
with the
division crown.
David Ehrgott May 2016
Bills, Browns, Chicago Bears
Broncos, Bengals, Buccaneers
Raiders, Ravens, Rams, and Redskins
Giants, Eagles, Texans, Titans
Falcons, Jaquars, Jets, and Dolphins
Niners, Vikings, Pats and Lions
Seahawks, Saints, The Colts and Chargers
Cowboys, Chiefs, The Green Bay Packers
Cardinals, Steelers and The Panthers
Now, it's time to watch what matters
Hope you have an awesome year
I'll be watching with my beer
Harry J Baxter Jan 2014
The sound of clattering plates
as a voice in the kitchen yells
we gotta sailor walking in hot
and the waitresses walk around the place
always just beyond the breaking point
wearing voices which say
we hope you have a great night
the plates they clatter
as the men at the bar grow drunker
as the redskins lose yet another game
No sir,
we regret to inform you
that you can not take your beer home with you
in a kiddie sized to go cup
the plates clatter
as the bus boys and dish crew
bounce to Mexican hopping beats
bustling and jostling their way through the six tops
a cart full of leftovers and the crayon drawings of little kids
seven o’clock sees the dinner rush
come and go
and still that sound
the endless clattering of plates
as quitting time rolls around
and a hundred people throw a hundred exhausted punches
at the same juggernaut of a clock
as they always have and always will
outside fresh air smells chemical
and in the car
alone on the ride home save for the passing
of headlights: strangers navigating the same dark
you still think you can hear it
the clattering of plates
ace Nov 2014
welcome to hell! welcome to hell!
where it may be sunny outside
but you wouldn't know
because you are trapped in a classroom
for seven hours a day

welcome to hell
where the teachers drone on like crickets in the night
and can't restart or repeat
yet it sounds the same each time

hell, where your creativity is graded on a scale of one to ten
ten being average
nine and under being a Failure

where Assassin's Creed teaches you more about history than your World Studies class does
and apparently calling a football team
the "Redskins" is giving honor
to Native Americans

please get warm and cozy
when you pledge your allegiance
and loyalty
to a flag every day to honor
your dystopian country that mirrors those books you read in English

praise your popcorn deities
but suffer eternal damnation
if you do not believe

indulge in exhausting labor
that earns no merit

take part in your anxiety
suffer through your abilities
and keep your eyes open

hell will show you a world of opportunities
giving you the unique option to hate
to hate either yourself or everyone else

you won't need empathy or sympathy anymore
apathy is all you can survive on

learn to erase your childhood
bury your life in books and dissolve

oh, and if that doesn't stop you,
try fighting!
hate yourself!
feel like dying!
but most importantly,
enjoy your stay.
you'll be here for a while.
“Television brought the brutality of war into the comfort of the living room.   Vietnam was lost in the living rooms of America—not on the battlefields of Vietnam.”                              Marshall McLuhan

You understand where I'm coming from,
Reader Rabbit, you twisted ****? Maybe not;
While you and your boy/girlfriend, later your wife/husband,
Were ******* backpacks around Europe,
I was of a less fortunate, less frivolous cohort,
Like the poor, who always miss the fun stuff.
So I stayed home and waited, dreading time,
Treading water in Queens,
Doing the graveyard shift at the Wonder Bread Bakery in Jamaica,
(No, not that Jamaica, mun.)
Building bodies 12 ways, and sweating out the inevitable,
Praying to my lesser god not to hear from my local draft board.
And who was I to disturb the universe?
“It ain’t me, it ain't me, I ain't no senator's son;
It ain't me, it ain't me, I ain't no fortunate one, lawd naw.”
(Send  "Fortunate Son" Ringtone to your Cell)  
I was just another cynical working-class hero,
Unlike you, numb nuts, and the rest of your silver surfer friends.
I knew I’d wind up without my teddy bear,
Convinced I’d end up sans security blanket,
With no ****-vacant musical chair,
To plop my sorry non-exempt, 1A **** cheeks
Down into when the music stopped,
When the music’s over, turn out the light--Jim Morrison,
Lizard King--turn out the light.
My horse, my horse . . . no wait . . . **** the horse . . .
My kingdom, my kingdom for a 2-S college deferment!
What kingdom?  
What was it Jesus said?
Not of this earth, anyway.
Colonial Indochina: rich man's war, poor man's fight;
It was such an efficient way to rid trash from poor neighborhoods.

Needless to say, I’ve been having a little trouble adjusting ever since,
Since I got back from that Kafkaesque Disneyland Jungle Cruise,
My personal Cold War thriller,
My Tecumseh Sherman “War is All Hell” war,
My war: 45 years ago next week.
These things take time:
So says the recorded message on the VA’s PTSD Hotline.
45 years ago I packed up my duffle,
Packed for what I thought was going to be my last time in uniform,
Grabbed my Army discharge papers, and
Limp-dicked out the side door of,
The Veterans Hospital in St. Albans, County of Queens.
I’d like to say I never looked back. But I’d be lying.

(cue PSA: VA Reaches Out to Veterans:
The Department of Veterans Affairs will begin,
Contacting nearly 570,000 recent combat veterans May 1,
To ensure they know about VA's medical services and other benefits.)

Today and every day is 11-11, Veterans Day—
What gets me now is that all my time since The Nam,
Is on average two lifetimes,
For all those sent home, bagged and tagged.
Is it survivor’s guilt? I doubt it.

You may not understand this, but I miss that freaky jungle.
I felt safe there.
How quickly I learned to expect the unexpected,
And that meant to expect the worse,
Finding my comfort zone the more uncomfortable, the worse it got.
I miss the wet weight of the air,
The cloying heat and humidity.
Humidity: a plain and simple meteorological miracle,
When you have plenty of time to really think about it,
Which I did: 365 days and a wake-up.
You know that whole gorgeous hydrologic cycle thing?
I miss the rain, the sound of falling rain.
I miss the other sounds, every buzz and click,
All the arcane and dismal things that go screech in the night.
And that relentless insect hum,
The jungle vibrating and intense,
The colors vibrating too, especially that electric green,
A green so vivid, every leaf and vine,
"The world's richest repository of terrestrial biodiversity,” I read in some nature magazine,
Lying naked in bed while my therapist ****** me off the other day.
All those freaky creatures great and small,
Every miraculous living thing that’s really alive and thriving.
And this is why--I think,
Getting obnoxiously philosophical for the moment,
This explains why it got to be so easy to waste what was alive and thriving over there, including and especially our selves.

Death never seemed that permanent, that final over there.
And besides, you couldn’t **** anything for that long,
The critters all looking their wet and slimy same.  
Two minutes in The **** and you were
Killing every ******* gnat and bug,
Every leech and snake, anything &
Anyone that just looked at you sideways.

And the flora? Did I mention the flora?
Soupy Sales: (Smack! Bam!)  “I told you not to mention that.”
The flora:  the plants grew back and they grew back quick.
You chop a path on recon and the next day it’s not there anymore,
So you chop the whole way back to the L-Z.  
Chop, chop, Hop Sing!
You were one smart ****, Hop Sing,
Safe and sound in Lake Tahoe, Nevada-side,
Cooking up Ponderosa pork bellies for,
The Cartwright Clan: Ben, Adam, Hoss & Little Joe.
Meanwhile, I’m not earning any frequent flyer miles,
Aboard a chartered TWA, coffee-tea-or-me,
Royal **** airplane to Saigon,
A place called ** Chi Minh City today.
I remember looking around at the faces on that airplane,
As we landed at Tan Son Nhut,
Those forlorn godforsaken faces,
Black and Chicano and poor white trash boys.
Scared shitless, of course,
But we really were jolly green giants over there,
American conquistadors, Cortez and the Boys,
Seeking gold and glory and, of course,
*******, (www.urbandictionary.com):
That sweet wet hole we all crave,
Can't go for too long without,
Center of our life's desire,
What gives women the upper hand in almost every situation,
Except when you pay in South Vietnamese piastres,
Your basic exchange rate $3.00 *******.

Yes, we were American conquistadors,
But traveling light this trip,
Our black-robed Jesuit fathers having missed the flight.
That’s right, for us no Ad majorem Dei gloriam this time,
Our mission so simple and so clear:
SEARCH & DESTROY.
But mostly, Destroy.

And pretty soon you worked your way up the evolutionary ladder,
From bugs, to fish, to frogs and snakes,
Small varmints and reptiles, birds and rodents;
And by the time you taxonomy out to the runway,
You’re pretty much whacking anything that moves,
Anything you feel like, pretty much any time,
All the time, sometimes just to pass the time,
Just to break up the ******* monotony of it all.
So making the anti-personnel leap got sort of easy:
They all looked the same, didn’t they?
They all wore the same pajamas,
And it was never conducive to grunt longevity,
To nitpick the civilians from the soldiers,
Never a good idea to waste time distinguishing friend from foe.

Good Morning, Vietnam:
We really were nerve-gassed-Adrian Cronauers over there,
G-2 Army oxymoronic intelligence stiffs,
Having a little difficulty finding the enemy,
Having one hell of a time finding a Vietnamese man named "Charlie."
They're all named Nguyen, or Tran, or Thanh or Trong or Bao or Phuc . . .
Oh, ****, I get it now.
I grok the how and why,
Of all the names we’ve used for centuries to dehumanize the enemy:
***** and Nips, Chinks and Slopes,
Huns and Krauts, Redskins and Ivans,
Redcoats and Rebs, Zulus and Mau Maus, *****, Ragheads and Sand ******* . . .
To dehumanize is to be dehumanized.
Nominal dehumanization; linguistic trickery.
It made it easy . . .
Well, easier . . .
To **** you.

What was it Pope Innocent III’s legate advised?
“**** Them All.  Let God sort ‘em out.”

Is it smell of burning flesh that makes me so digress?

Yes, I miss that freaky jungle, my friend.
I miss knowing what to expect and what was to be expected.
And most of all I miss that absolute confidence,
My self-liberating soporific certainty,
That I did not give a **** whether I lived or died,
And no one else did either.
I miss the peaceful place to go,
Coping with fear by letting go,
By writing off my life,
My future "in-country,"
My 12-month tour of duty,
My 365 T.S. Eliot Ash Wednesdays,
Learning to care and not to care,
Cultivating indifference as to,
Whether or not I ever made it Wee, Wee, Wee,
All the way home again.
The answers were right there,
Always there, all the time,
In nursery rhymes, and counting songs,
In psalms and arias, and every blues and rock lyric,
Right there, so right ******* there,
In Kris Kristofferson/Janice Joplin parlance of the times:
“Freedom’s just another word for nothing left to lose.”

And life for me since then--
ONE BIG, FAT-TITTED INCOMPREHENSIBILITY!

What was that Walter Sobjak in The Big Lebowski said?

“This is not 'Nam.
This is bowling.
There are rules.”
Thomas W Case Jan 2021
If you're wondering why there's so many typos? I'm in the hospital,
Benzo'd out and on phenobarbital.
But I guess it's better than hammered drunk at home trying to give the cat a bath.
He doesn't like that band The Allman Brothers which I Blair at the side of the tub and he tends to scratch me
even with the Mr. bubble bath. Now I'll try to watch the Redskin buccaneer game, they'll always be the Redskins to me. But that could just be the benzos talking
Mark Tilford Feb 2016
The has been
The begin
The end
Ladies with the name Lynn
Next of kin
Twins
"You have to win"
Gin
So many  men
So many  women
"Going to the loony bin"
Music by a violin
The redskins
"SIN"
Might have been!!
The writing pin
"What's in"
Flynn
People that are to thin
To much "Within"
The inn
Taking a fist to the chin
Perfume
Gloom and doom
Being a groom
To assume
To presume
A classroom

Nothing that really matters
If I had my rather's
Belle Dec 2017
I bet y'all thought I was white
Yeah I get it
I look white
I mean like yeah I'm kinda white but
I'm not white
If you want to know EXACTLY
I'm 47.5% Native American of the Susquehannock tribe.
There's also some middle eastern in there, but that's irrelevant.
My family, we were strong natives.
A town in Pennsylvania named Annville.
It's named after my Aunt Ann, who was the leader of her tribe.
All this and people are so quick to assume I'm some "white girl."
I still don't know what's worse though,
Being called *******,
Or red skin.
Because they don't talk about what it's like when you don't look your ethnicity.
Then when you try explaining it to people... they laugh at you.
And tell you you're "touchy."
Or once again, just a "white girl."
When my friend dressed up as a quote on quote, Indian, for Halloween and I told her it was offensive, she scoffed and said, "but you're not even reeeeeally a Native American."
Cause when people look at me they think "white."
Sorry I don't put feathers in my braids and wear pelts of fur.
Do you want me to walk barefoot in the winter and sleep in a teepee?
We don't do that.
And you get the day off for Christopher Columbus? Cool.
He ***** our women and murdered our people. You know we were initially called Indians because he though we were India. He didn't find America...we did. But nice try.
And the Washington Redskins? I don't know if they're a good team or not, but god I hope they change their name because every time I hear it I feel like a piece of my heritage is slashed. But nobody realizes this. Do they?
People like to giggle behind my back when I defend my native side.
So when these people are having their outdoor weddings, or pool parties, or Fourth of July barbecues. I'm just going to do a little rain dance. See how much you're laughing then.
Yenson May 2022
The genius is the construction of the blind alleys
signposting the ephemerality of passages
where the ghosts and the retrievers walk
not perchance but daily weekly monthly yearly
dipping toes in murky canals
skipping pebbles in ripples of lores

Here we see Anna's way
to the left is the Unforgiven Avenue
whilst a little further we will come to Black Lane
roll down the hill into Anxiety Corner
and if one walks long enough you will reach Open Door Road
where lies the fields of forget-me-nots in evergreen bloom

So we have our Dr Livingstones in exploration
mapping tributaries charting crumbling sources to K2
crampons  goggles and climbing ropes unnecessary
bare white eyes sees best in white noise and snow blindness
our intrepid warriors are chipping away from Wigan Pier
to the Black Forest where all you know is all you don't know

The genius is the construction of the blind alleys
signposting the ephemerality of passages
where the ghosts and the retrievers walk
not perchance but daily weekly monthly yearly
dipping toes in murky canals and mud flats
skipping pebbles in ripples of folklores
Green revolution, greenhorn revolution, smoke and mirrors, Rainbow Alliance, Extinction of Specie, Arrogance of Humans, make of it what you will!!!
Ken Pepiton Nov 2022
We can agree, we never have too many ands,
as in go look,
said go and look, useless and,
what is the goer to do, but look
- wait is the goer a robot?
ai declares that a faulty concept.
Let it go and agree. Ands are significant
and some of
those ands are idle,
save for some sublimnal musical reason,
-
a tune in time, accenting sylables - said with a sax,
from the showers at Venice Beach,
hospital green tile, analog auto answering prayer
empty- emptiness bound, true to beautiful
-
see there, no and needed, ifs and buts agree
threading through that needle eye,
focal plain… sharp crack, djewhear?
that man was rich,
but he died with a bang,
neighbors heard during the Redskins game that Sunday.
Three Richards I have known, all died by choice. I find it hard to fault them for it. But had each asked, I could have proved it all makes sense, if you can live long enough to get through the hard part [s].
Bob B Oct 2016
PC
It's very disturbing to hear people say
That they wholeheartedly object
To being forced to weigh their words
And having to be politically correct.

Forgetting the crassness of earlier times,
They want to return to the careless days
When Jews were called horrible things;
When blacks weren't "blacks" and gays weren't "gays";

When Native Americans were called "redskins";
When despicable names were given to our foes,
And children were taught horribly racist
"Eeny, meeny, miny, moes."

People didn't "cheat" you, they "gyped" you;
The Irish and Italians were both called names;
"Eskimo" was a generalized term;
Men referred to women as "dames."

Mute people were "dumb" back then;
Latinos and Asians were called names, too.
It seems that derogatory words
Were seldom if ever considered taboo.

Will decency and respect both
Be tossed out the window? Please say no.
We can't return to the ignorant days
Of racist jokes and slurs and Jim Crow.

Being a considerate human means
Sometimes bearing a heavy load.
Our lack of sensitivity
Can lead us down a dangerous road.

- by Bob B
Jonathan Moya Nov 2020
Due to the pandemic the children are not coming.  
The adults will set a table for two and wait for the zoom chat after the game with  
the Dallas Cowboys and
the Washington Football Team
formerly known as the Redskins.

They will double their Thanksgiving feast of
Burger’s Hickory Smoked Spiral Sliced City ham,
Betty Crocker’s Cheddar and Bacon Scalloped potatoes,
Bake House Creations Crescent rolls,
oven roasted Brussel sprouts with bacon,
sliced acorn squash with a brown sugar glaze,
and a five cup Ambrosia salad of sour cream,
pineapple tidbits, canned Mandarin oranges in light syrup, organic flake coconut and mini marshmallows
marinated until the marshmallows get gooey
and impart sweetness to the sour cream.

The Trump over Biden over any Democrat arguments
will thankfully not happen this year
and blissfully never again.  For this year,
at least, things will seem to return to normal.
The miracle will go by unrecorded, unnoticed.

They are secretly glad they don’t have to dress up
in the Pilgrim and Indian dress embroidered
with wild turkeys, Indian corn that creased around
to reveal the vast wild fields and forest ready
to be explored and traded for beads and
promises of sharing the American bounty;
the ugly Garfield the Cat sweater over
the crisp white shirt and black slacks
bought at the J.C. Penny liquidation sale.
Today Dad will proudly wear his
aqua Miami Dolphins jersey,  sweat pants,
socks and comfy ‘Phins black briefs
with the not so stretchy waist band.

Go Tua,  memories of the
undefeated Dolphins 1972 season,
the big Thanksgiving brawls of 1977
spurred by Conrad Dobler
***** hits on Bob Griese,
the Dan Marino five Turkey Day
interceptions against the Dallas Cowboys
in 1999 that was the final sunset of
a first ballot Hall of Farmer career
danced in Dad’s head.
Mom just wanted to catch up on
all those Dark Shadows soaps and
Housewives of Whatever she missed.
Dressed in her blue angels nightgown
she rolled her eyes when
first football game of the day switched on.

They vaguely dreamed of the days
when his hair was thick and black
and hers was long, golden and easy;
all the trips they planned
and sometimes took
where they climbed bluffs
and overlooked storybook plains.

Today they would look at each other
with the same everyday stare
and notice their wrinkled hands
and clink together the strong, cheap wine
poured into leftover mason jars.
They toasted each other
and whatever would come next,
the decades of side by side,
their great good luck,
the incoming Zoom
of children and grandchildren.
C F Jul 2020
Let's try a hint of bluntness
Honesty.

When I was little
I didn't know
That the Redskins name
Was wrong.

No one taught me.
I knew it sounded weird
But not for anything heartwarming-
I thought more about cannibals
Wearing someone else's skin
Than about racial discrimination.

I wasn't able to pinpoint

— The End —