Now you See them, Now you Don't

Now You See Them, Now You Don’t

They were gathered together,

at Euclid

and Rosecrans Avenue

there on the corner.

They met in a circle,

then they

finished,

circling about.

Lined up,

nice and neat.

All in a row,

there;

they gaggled.

Gayly. Like faggets

All in a row,

Plomping—

A Womble—

As they crank their engines.

Flywheels creeking

and

the castors squealing,

the tensioners straining and groaning,

metal on metal,

no oil, no silicon lubricant,

no protection;

these tin men are

all riding dirty.

Just trying to get it right,

left,

Huff—----Heeeeee…

right,

Huff—----Heeeeee…

left, right,

Huff—----Heeeeee…

Left, right, le—

HACK—HU—HEEEEEEEE…..

Right, right, right, left—

CACQUUUE! CACQUUUE! CACQUUUE!

Left—

Huff—

right—

Heeeeee—

left—

MEAL AND CUDDLE BREAK!

H+E+Y!

WHAT THE FUCK HAVE YOU DONE?!?!

AT LEAST THEY’RE FUCKING TRYIIIIIINNNNNNGGGGGG!!!

 

 

WHILE YOU SIT!

ON YOUR DOOKUS!

IN YOUR CHAIR!

WHO SAYS DOOKUS!!! YOU DON’T HAVE KIDS!!

You…

You Clutch your belly.

your precious…

you wanna know what’s sustainable?

What the fuck is GREEN?

WHO THE FUCK WANTS TO BE GREEN??

Know your limitations;

Know your strengths.

 

These poor people.

Only

Wanting change,

Just Like Me.

 

They feel.                                                                                                      Like Me

for they                                                                                                         are

 

Just

like

Me.                                                                                                                 Like Me.

 

Sick of what they see,                                                                              Like Me.

When they have a look in the mirror.                                                  Like Me.

The thing looking back bears not a resemblance.                          You.

To the one they’ve always known to trust.                                        Me.

Nay,                                                                                                               these are different.

They lack                                                                                                      hope.

Hark,                                                                                                             these are desperate.

They act as if they are                                                                              missing,

On one side;                                                                                                of the Milk Box.

But we are only looking for someone                                                 who

Might                                                                                                             understand,

Searching for just a little piece of                                                        common ground.

Yes… For just a little safe                                                                        understanding,

Solitude—                                                                                                    A Sanctuary!

where a man is to                                                                                      be never scolded

for Mother Nature’s                                                                                  done enough of that

rightful for a mother to do                                                                      indeed.

She does                                                                                                      Love

us you know…                                                                                            God,

I don’t know.

If his evidence is unseen

then, We must be only to see Mother, not                                        Daddy

just like now

 

I have not ever seen that group of

Fatties;

out

Huffing and

puffing

Hee—ing and

Huff—ing

all of our good air. I say

let them have it,

lest they

Quit.

To what,

lob off a few ounces?

Swine…

the lot of them.

I see myself in them,

we all can.

(Oh come on..)

 

we don’t need them to be our mirror.

It can all be a thing of the past if you choose it.

Save for the dummy’s you can’t control,

Nobody in their right mind will willingly

replay past trauma over and over.

You really can stop it though, if you try.

And never give in,

like the fatty’s who I never saw again.

Next time I see them,

they will be an entirely different crowd of fatty’s,

Hopefully there are some amongst the others,

that aren’t expecting everyone around them

to roll over,

 

so the fatty’s

can lift their feet up

or bend us down

and.

Up

into their

folds-of-folds-of

swingy flesh

the arm

pit of death,

for use as their

crutch.

Amen.