After a particularly long phone conversation with you, I find myself frustrated. (Not that that's too unusual) It feels like we're driving in circles, One of your favorite activities. Driving around the same streets For hours. I always hated that. It's a waste of time And of gas.
Funny that they always say "Think of the children" But when they turn 18 They'll hand them all guns And send them to die In their pointless wars And that's all They're protecting them for They'll send our sons Marching to battle Meat for the slaughter Like herds of cattle
I can't even look at the flag anymore Because I'll think too much about politics I can't even look at the flag anymore Because it makes me fucking sick Red for all of the blood that we shed Blue for the tears of their mothers White so we can pretend we're clean Of all our country's murders
"I'm sorry ma'am I really am But at least your boy Died for Uncle Sam Spreading democracy To far away lands That never asked us To lend them a hand" We spend 12 million Every hour Just to maintain Our military power Almost 2 trillion That could be Spent on renewable energy My guess is They feel winds of change coming And they don't want us To have windmills running
Now how would you rather your money spent? I only ask you "think of the children."
It's funny you know. I could never write a lengthy poem about you Despite all you did And how much you changed me. . Maybe the memories are too stale Maybe I just intensified everything at the time But I like to think The whole thing Is just so trite Just so boring That I have nothing meaningful to say
Or maybe I've turned my life into a state function And all my memories are irrelevant And all we need to care about Are my intensive properties. The process is unimportant. But I worry, I wont be able to contain The building entropy.
We're from a generation That was always told "Say no to drugs" While they shoved Ritalin down our throats Force fed pharmaceuticals Until it seemed normal To alter your mind Until it seemed normal But no you see the child has A.D.D. I think we need to have him take these And then he’s quiet for a while So you sit and smile Thinking you’ve done what’s best for your child But eventually you’ll be Wondering why he’s on ecstasy
I'd always wanted to write about the time I almost died. My truck spun out on the interstate and I barely missed an 18 wheeler and sign post. The truck my grandfather left me ended up in the perfect position for me to pull back onto the interstate, go to a Waffle House and smoke down a cigarette in record time. I've thought about it and thought about it until I finally realized It wasn't all that interesting.
I was sitting While the two of you were talking About some political topic I had no interest in You were defending your selfish, Republican views While she sounded like the typical, self-inflated Democrat. Meanwhile I sat to the side Playing with a cheese knife Because it was clear You'd both seen too much news To make up your own mind about an issue. Eventually, you saw me, And suddenly the knife was a novelty. Something you had to play with So you asked me to see it. I obliged knowing that once you had the knife You'd quickly lose interest Like a child wanting the toy another had Because another had it. While she eyeing me sitting silently Assumed I knew nothing about what you were talking about And tried her best to help explain (So I would only see her side as right) When she didn't understand I didn't want her help. You put down the knife in a minute And resumed arguing Then, forgetting about me She did too. And the whole time, The two of you Never solved a single issue.
Published June 30, 2013, 4:39 a.m. in
Prose » General | Political
Updated version to 2: Sept. 16, 2013, 4:12 p.m.
I always hated starting my poems like this, but the other night I had a dream. The first time I had seen you in 2 years. But every shot of you was from low angle view like some sort of subconscious director was influencing my perception Still, unlike most I find it hard to find much nice to say about you (except that you were attractive.) I know I once could, but now I'm unsure if your true nature is either too known to me or too obscured by my opinions. Though your father told me while we were both drunk in Mexico "You're a lot better to her than she'll be to you; get out." So maybe I was right about you or maybe your father knew something about the situation I didn't yet. I remember you used to tell me about the boys you'd date And certainly you knew how that affected me. I always felt like you loved to watch me squirm. How long did you think I'd sit beneath you and be your little worm? But one day of course you'll fall to the ground and I'll rip apart your corpse.