Wednesday, January 11, 2017

Sixth Poem (Bend Over and Spread Your Cheeks)

Nearly broke my mind writing the fifth poem, but that’s okay I’ll soon get over that.
We must make allowances for all sorts of collateral damage when the shit starts piling up and we don’t have a strong enough back to shovel it.
Get inside the red wheelbarrow and I’ll push you around like William Carlos Williams when poetry still meant something and a human stain didn’t bite you on the ass every time you attempted to return it whence it came.

La Charity gets it so does Provost and Smith and a host of other lonely hearts that refuse to back pedal or meet their maker just yet.
Dylan also gets it no matter the myth he covets like a bull whip or latest copy of the Ladies' Home Journal.
The proof is always in the pudding even and especially when their spokesman turned out to be a serial rapist who enjoyed pushing Quaaludes far more than Jell-O Pudding Pops.

Some people lose their appetite before they’ve even gotten a bite while the swift and dogged fisherman knows if you don’t cast your line and wait quietly you’re unlikely to catch a single fish or have anything resembling a good time.
We broke the speed of sound when we fucked like two astronauts lost in space, but that was nothing compared to when we landed and you stuck your middle finger up my blowhole.
The chemistry we created would leave any high school science teacher speechless because those who can do and those who can’t teach high school science. And yes I most certainly believe in a good education, but what I don’t believe in is the Lord of the Flies bullying mentality that most schools now operate beneath. And I am not only talking about students bullying other students, but also teachers bullying students and students bullying teachers. Bring an apple to school get ridiculed. Bring a semi-automatic rifle to school and show your fellow classmates how it’s really done.

We’re so far down the rabbit hole it’s beyond not funny how desensitized we’ve all become to the next assault, the next massacre that will occur before I’ve even finished this poem. And if you think a failed and bankrupted businessman who respects no one and only wants what he can get for himself and his entitled, pampered family will make America great again well good luck with that because he only ran for office to prove to everyone that he could and now that he’s won he’s doing his best to hide behind family and Twitter and any other distraction that keeps us from seeing him leave the stage before the tank is lowered into the water and we’re led to believe he’s inside with only minutes to escape.
I’ve lost confidence with our public officials around the time they started throwing the word homeland around. For me that was just too close to comfort with the Fatherland and the Nazi’s and a failed evil regime that never should have existed in the first place. The pundits calling Trump a genius for how he won the Republican nomination and then the Presidency are dead wrong because there’s nothing genius or for that matter even smart in tearing into your opponents like a Pitbull on steroids and there’s also not much to be said about an opportunist that uses race to stir up the masses and then drives it home with an extra helping of populism to make sure the swarm is properly induced to do their bidding.
Nearly broke open my skull writing the last poem, but that’s nothing to how I feel now. I’ve never felt more broke down or disgusted, but after eight years believing there might be a chance for us to come together and make a difference I guess it’s no surprise we’re more divided than ever as The Liberty Bell cracks all over again and we the people are taken out behind the woodshed and whipped to an inch of our red, white and blue lives with a brand new switch.  

Charles Cicirella

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