Tag: poem

lick rich

A poem for CME.

yummy yummy ladies on my screen,
more than McLuchan could have foreseen,
smouldering my sensibilities like raw limonene
being rubbed in bare, bewitched eyes
in a Ludovico machine.

i’ve never ridden in the back of a limousine
snorting coke off a celebrity’s caboose.
unlucky me.
but every day if i so choose,
i can watch the car-hobby show they produced
with that chick who specializes in rust repair
who was only seventeen when that episode aired
but now that she’s eighteen, she doesn’t care
if those bikini selfies of hers’ are out there?

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die you damned bastard fly!

A poem.

i locked a fly inside my safe
to see if it could survive,
and two weeks later to my surprise
the fly still hadn’t died.

its incarceration wasn’t intentional,
of that i assure you –
i won’t pressure you with a confession of animal abusion –
but it just flew in there, that dumbass diptera
and, putting all semblance of a conscience aside,
from the moment i saw it hovering over the dirty dish brine
i cursed its damned bastard behind!
with wings that fly fast as it buzzes past
and irritates my fragile mind,
and a dirty sucky straw-hole for a mouth that eats garbage
for the supposed duration of its ironic adult life.

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silly boys

A poem.

ready to use
be used and abused in return –
yes just like the Eurythmics sung –
ready to run,
like the Energizer bunny pre-Pandemic before he looked so spun,
finally and without any more ado,
here come the silly boys through the exit postern
looking like idiots and
still trying to have fun.

guess who just got back today!
and they would’ve been back earlier if their plane weren’t delayed
by silly boys and silly men
playing the grown-ups on a downward trend

and the laughter they receive is the attention they seek
because without it they’re doomed to be seen
as prosaic & weak, allegedly,
blowing their vape cloud toward a future that’s bleak
like they’re already willing to die at 16,
living tracks by old idols like Biggie and Mobb Deep
because that’s so super retro, you see,
and you never saw Tupac in any ads for acne cream

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spending money

A poem.

spending money
spending money
all i want to do is spend my money
not save it all miserly or donate it to the deaf
just spend it on myself again and again

big ticket purchase?
spend my money
eating out gorgeous?
spend my money!
another selection in the library of things?
ring the drawstring on the ATM machine!
take it, it’s yours’
and all the misery a zero-balance brings!
ting ting a-ling!

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don’t park in front of my house

aka. some people

A poem.

i’m sure
we don’t make it easy for God
or whichever/whatever/whoever you’re of:

when one neighbour asks us to look after their dog,
then the other leaves a note on our car
that we’re in his road-level permitless parking stall
in the middle of a weekday without a soul on the street at all;

when the same partner with whom
you thought you were meant to be –
the one you just talked to about starting a family –
discards wet sample garbage on the shelf at the grocery;

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