"waco" poems
Abigail slides the glass door shut.
As beads of water percolate off her body
and land on the faux stone tile,
the smell of chlorine from her swim
and the smell of coffee from my brewing *** blend.
My uncle, Abigail's father, and my mother
are seated at the sticky, spilt soda kitchen table beside me.
"Go get ready for dinner," my mother's brother says, sending
Abigail's bikini'd frame through doorway and around the bend.
The brew idles, and I'm all porcelain and sugar substitute for a moment,
then back by my uncle and mother.
"Abigail has gotten so thin," my mother says.
"Is she eating?" my mother asks.
"I know it's tough for girls her age. When they're looking to marry," my mother says.
I want to bash the smoking cup into her face.
My uncle says she's been training for a marathon.
My neurons get tidy and taper off.
So, it's out of the kitchen and into an empty living room
to park my *** on an empty piano bench.
I set the coffee on top, and press eight of my fingers down
on black keys.
I hear toes-to-heels, toes-to-heels.
I gaze over my shoulder.
Now, Abigail's in a black, black dress. Mid-thigh.
In her left hand,
red fuck-me-shoes with a heel that could turn a curious man blind;
in her right hand,
black pantyhose and cherry lipgloss.
"You should have swam," Abigail delivers with hushed precision,
like she'd been reciting the line throughout the duration of her swim.
Abigail has long brunette hair,
and it's sticking to her neck.
Deep permanent dimples frame her lips.
She's a nurse in Waco.
Each time I see her, I think about
Bukowski's 103-pound "Texan".
It makes me rash, violent, a heady monstrosity,
and trembling sick.
"I forgot my trunks."
"That's no excuse."
I would respond, but she's sliding the hose up her leg.
In the living room.
While my uncle talks a second mortgage around the bend.
Her right leg crosses her left,
an overpass and an interstate.
My forehead overheats in a flash,
and I feel like she's staring back at me.
When my leering eyes shift from
her toes to her eyes, the pupils beckon:
"All roads lead to me."
Jun 18, 2012
Jun 18, 2012 at 12:48 AM UTC
I used to pump iron
deep in the heart of Texas.
where Meredith shined
like Waco,
the twisted cowgirl
with red braids
& wore rattlesnake Justins.
Jun 1, 2014
Jun 1, 2014 at 9:41 AM UTC
The Fates
1914 Heaven & Hell BLVD
Waco Texas 666
C.E.O. Master O. Cards
Incomplete Application For Living
This Is An App. For Living
Name: Last______ First______ Middle Initial__
Home Address: Mt Olive RD
State: AR. City:________ & Zip Code:________
Social Security Number:
*-(ect)-9797
Male or Female (please circle one)
Race: Yellow, Black, Red or Caucasian?
List Previous Acquaintances:
(beginning last to first,
in detail please, do rank them all
& mark which ones are worse)
Name:____________Have known for How Long?____________
Age:____________How would you rate this one?____________
Are you Enemies or Friends now?____________
What will they do?____________ What have they done?____________
Have you been convicted of a Felony?____________
Misdemeanor?____________ Or Likewise?____________
Plead Guilty?____________ Or No Contest?____________
Go against Legal Advise?____________
(If yes, then please explain:)________________________
_____________________________________________
Are you most Happy?____________ Somewhat Sad?____________
A High school Dropout?____________ College Grad?____________
Thin?________ Obese?________ Medium Build?________
Pretty?________ Ugly?________ Clumsy?________ Skilled?________
Disclaimer
If we are to judge you right, Please fill in all the spaces, The process must be quite precise, On Looks, I.Q. and Races. This information’s vital and our tally is what counts, It let’s us know which ones will live and which will need put down.
I hereby swear this is the truth, not made~up to cause hurt,
I understand the consequence should there be falsehoods in word.
Applicant: ______________________
(must be signed in blood or other D.N.A.)
Please Print Name:________________
(so we can read of whom we are to slay)
For questions please call our hotline toll-free @ 1-666-0My-Fate
Jul 12, 2010
Jul 12, 2010 at 7:19 AM UTC
kent state
jackson state
waco texas
ruby ridge
"live free or die"
Nov 9, 2022
Nov 9, 2022 at 9:35 PM UTC
So today (Dec. 22) I was at a rest stop on my way home from my family's small town near Waco, Texas. We stopped to refresh ourselves, but I stayed in the car with my mom. As I sat there chatting with her about the reunion we just attended, I heard a little country band playing some really tacky country music. I saw 2 female back-up singers, a guy on drums, and the leading man with a guitar. I felt something towards those microphones. Maybe it was because the group was just that bad and I thought I could do better or maybe it was my frustration with my family, thinking that singing could fix it. I don't really know what it was. I just felt the urge to get out, take the microphone from the leader, and belt out a Christmas classic like Silent Night. I can sing pretty well, but I still didn't do it in the end. Too embarrassing, especially in front of all those strangers.
Dec 23, 2013
Dec 23, 2013 at 12:19 AM UTC
Wake up
What a circus
To watch
On the TV screen
Waco
Thugs?
No
Danger to society?
No
Evidence of inherent white violence?
No
Just the boys
At it again
No one beaten by cops
No one brutalized by police
Or the media
Just another white day
In a white town
May 20, 2015
May 20, 2015 at 12:15 PM UTC
By: Cedric McClester
If I may, let me give you the nexus
Of five biker gangs in Waco Texas
Clearly with super fast reflexes
Who became deadly as well as reckless
They shot up Twin Peaks, their recruitment place
Nine of ‘em were killed in any case
And just as you might have assumed it
Many more were seriously wounded
But unarmed demonstrator’s chants
Of no justice no peace
Calls for volleys of tear gas at the very least
And tanks to move in along with the police
But not in Waco where the violence increased
I don’t get it, but am I suppose to
Why the system does the things that it do
But that doesn’t mean I don’t wish I knew
If you’re looking for
Any semblance of sameness
Pursuing that end would only be aimless
Until recently all five were nameless
Despite identifiers on the back of their vests
Now on the other hand, if they were black
They’d be called nothing short of a mad wolf pack
And the National Guard would have had to react
The Cossacks and Banditos
Are two names that emerged
Now there are fewer of ‘em
Since they’ve been purged
It became very clear that they were on the verge
Of reeking all out havoc and mayhem
Forcing the cop to arrest and slay ‘em
As they ferociously tried to somehow delay ‘em
Copyright © 2015 Cedric McClester. All rights reserved.
May 18, 2015
May 18, 2015 at 11:40 PM UTC
lips are smokey and nicotined
-up for a night in the dishpit.
the moon leases it's image
for a minute an hour before
stating the lease will expire
sometime between 2040
and 2101. if I'm lucky, I'll be
happy in longevity, or happy
in a 50 yr span which is as
fine as the former. either way
there is a sense of leaking
facets on a Sunday night, a
Ritalin-induced euphoria kept
alive on a caffeine spike. the
bus is always late these days,
which means I am often late
these days, late as daylight,
late as life in fact and as early
as fiction to the evening ball
of predicated tech-gurus riding
hybrid Toyota's in Silicon Valley.
high on a drug called birth and
ingesting like an addict 3 to 5
times a day, I stave off the
ultimate crash.
but eventually, the drug will
**** me.
it always does.
Apr 14, 2014
Apr 14, 2014 at 4:33 AM UTC
There he was
"He"
But him
Peeking around corners
That house
The one on Balcom Lane?
Not quite.
The mammoth wooden doors and startling interiors
A mesh of the Waco mansion
and the Motyckas', God knows why.
Fancy houses are vessels for empty thoughts.
Oh, but there he was,
God of my past
I can't deny it.
He searched for me. He
seduced me.
But I knew.
I knew.
He wasn't unbetrothed.
No, she was there, somewhere.
Ah, yes, she interrogated me.
And I...
Was I honest?
My body ached for him.
Just like the night before.
How did he find her so fast?
Why was there dead air on the phone that night?
I think I just felt the wind shake my house.
God is blowing it all away.
My memory too, it drops away in pieces.
So I grabbed that pen.
I mean this one.
I hold it; it's "this."
I see it; it's "that."
But neither exist, neither are, right?
Thank you, Timaeus.
You showed me how the world once was,
how men once saw it to be.
But now, the "gruesome houses."
He's still there.
His face.
Just barely though.
Oh, life, how I love your perpetual motion, replacing each moment with the next, before I even know the first is gone!
sometimes.
But then there are the ones when I wish it would all slow down.
Or worse, turn back.
The will moves only forward.
Always ahead & never behind.
That's what I control.
Not 2007.
Heh, he didn't need me.
It ripped my heart out & rended it apart.
I do love brown ales though.
Apr 8, 2013
Apr 8, 2013 at 1:05 PM UTC
If God tells you to love another, you love another
If God tells you to forgive, you forgive the other
If God tells you to minister his word, you minister
If God tells you to help someone, you help someone
If God tells you to be confident, you walk with your head high
Did God actually tell them to drink the koolaid?
Did God actually tell them to carry machine guns in Waco?
Did God actually tell them to blow up abortion clinics?
Did God actually tell the man to **** his neighbors dog?
Did God actually tell the mother to beat her children to death?
Mar 14, 2015
Mar 14, 2015 at 8:25 PM UTC
9/11 inside job/Lizard people stealing jobs
FBI-COINTELPRO/Starting fires in Waco
Two guys, not one in OKC/LBJ killed Kennedy
Earth is flat, NASA lies/when will you open your eyes?
(Chorus) We didn't start the fire! But we're getting ready for the New World Order! The situation's getting dire/So let's get our guns and patrol the border!
Jews and banks, Rothchilds rule/Actually it's lizards, fool!
High school satans, bio-weapons/Feudal system brought to rule
Y3K, Matrix glitch, the UN blueprints for making slaves/
Flouride in tap water IS TURNING THE FREAKIN' FROGS GAY!
(Chorus) We didn't start the fire! But it's too late now, 'cause they already know/We gotta get ourselves prepared now! One day soon the whole thing's gonna blow!
Apr 16, 2018
Apr 16, 2018 at 7:43 AM UTC
Tony Lama nights
Lone stars and ***** tonk bars
Don't you mess with her
Feb 15, 2014
Feb 15, 2014 at 5:00 AM UTC
She bush-pushed past jammers,
sent bodies spinning like bad coins.
Farm boys waved their caps from the stands,
hoping she’d choose them next
for mercy or violence.
In your dreams, limp-dick!
She would shout,
Molly Magdalene taught her first:
if you’re going to be bad,
live your gimmick.
Juliet listened.
She was Demolisha:
roller derby queen,
brick hips and hair like barbed wire,
lips black as tar,
eyes smoked in coal,
women’s names inked on her ribs and shoulder,
like wounds she chose to keep.
I was just her groupie’s part-time boyfriend,
I was the tool she kept under the seat:
her tire iron,
used in a crisis.
I rode shotgun in her vintage truck
toward Waco,
singing Sinatra off-key
to keep her awake,
scribbling bios for the program:
Queen of Quake! Derby darling of devastation!
Empress of impact, Siren of slam!
"keep at it", she said.
We got to her father’s house
to take the bureau.
Crossed the ashtray living room,
threaded through a cave of trash bags,
yellowed sheets, broken lamps,
into a back bedroom, a hoarder’s shrine
stacked high to nothing.
The heirloom sat buried in the dark,
hard oak, grain heavy as muscle,
the one honest thing in a sour room,
something Juliet respected.
Her father stayed sunk in his chair,
TV glow staining his face,
cigarettes ground into carpet,
nicotine walls dripping beer sweat.
He barely nodded,
muttered bitterness,
as if we weren’t even there.
I knew then-
he had made her a villain
long before Molly Magdalene
polished her into one.
In Baton Rouge, gas station past midnight,
a boy appeared,
a Baby Ruthless shirt stretched across his chest,
skinny arms, John Deere cap.
His mother, pink barbie sweatshirt,
a purse full of pens and candy bars,
watched him hold out
a crumpled receipt to sign.
Juliet bent low,
almost tender,
Then shouted:
In your dreams, limp-dick!
And the boy laughed,
laughed like he’d won a prize,
while his mother burned with fury,
damning her to hell.
**** you, ***** Juliet countered.
Back in the truck
she sipped coffee bitter as ash,
rings rattling on the wheel.
_This,_ she said,
is what lasts.
Not when you’re bad.
When you’re the dirt worst.
Behind us, a past that forged her,
the oak piece rode, ratchet strapped,
to whatever she swung at next.
Aug 24, 2025
Aug 24, 2025 at 8:55 PM UTC
Waco
Ruby Ridge
Jackson State
May 4th
Kent State
(4 dead in Ohio)
Apr 29, 2024
Apr 29, 2024 at 5:16 PM UTC