there was this one time
that my family and I were
on food-stamps because my
wife was pregnant, and on Medicaid
because I got laid off,
because I was trying
to go back to college,
so that I could get a
piece of paper
that said I was smart
even though I used
crutches to walk.
because a piece
of paper is more
believable than
your eyes or
my mouth.
and, we were starving
so I used my mouth
to convince someone
in a tie that I really had
a disability, and a need
to eat.
that person, and his tie
asked me how long I’d
been disabled, so I
told ‘em…since 1975
is that long enough?
there was this one time
that my wife was pregnant,
and on Medicaid, and I bet
we were on food-stamps too,
and the babies that were alive
in her belly died.
so, I did the only thing
I could think of to do,
I got a tattoo, because
I wanted to carry some
part of them with me
forever, and have some
part of something that I
could show you too.
there was this one time
that I worked a job
that was stuffed and
funded by grandmas
and grandpas, by
mommas and daddies;
by people that had done
the best that they knew
how to do.
and I would go see them,
check on them, making
sure that they were safe,
warm, and away from harm.
that job is the best job I ever had,
and we’re fighting funding cuts
because people think that these
folks somehow aren’t worth it;
that they somehow are facilitating
a drug or alcohol problem, or a
******* new tattoo.
there was this one time
that I was disgusted by all
the hate-mongering, lion-killing
veteran-suicideing, poor man hating,
cop-killing, killer-copping, Jesus-weaponizing
and just wanted to be a human
surrounded by other humans
and have those other humans
care about me while I promised
to care about them.
there was this one time.
and, it was a long ****
time ago.
*
©P&ZPublications; 2015
-JBClaywell
