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aayoung

Poetry, Prose, Art, Photography, Random Shit

kill the radio

it’s your voice
that always got to me
you damned well knew it
causing me to explode forward
bloody haired
through the windshield
of our history

Christmas Eve

she adorns her hair

with holly leaves

cardinals singing carols on

her sweater sleeves

crushed rose petals lips

angels for earrings

a scarf woven of silvery tinsel

each candle lit

a prayer for earth

sent to the mail room in heaven

all this

and a love poem

on Christmas Eve

 

crazy glue

your heart
is going to get broken
because i have decided
to piece together
mine

blank generation

i’ve seen the best minds
of my generation
fail to know about anything
that existed prior to 1980
historically culturally politically
unless it could be read
off a baseball card
a cereal box
or an infomercial scroll
during *Nick -at-Nite*
we are the great feckless mass
of scratch and sniffing
trapper keeping
garbage pail kid
consumer children
left
with no direction
on the living room floor
to play with colorful hunks of plastic
while our parents
watched Dallas and Dynasty
then
fucked the
neighbor next door

frankly, my dear…

the south is on fire
not in that charming
general sherman sort of way
the north is unemployed
so they elected a german
grand wizard of real estate
to be our next failure
son of a scottish housekeeper
who makes jokes about émigré
the west is busy crushing red Indians
our national past time has always been
genocide and polluting waterways
take heart, americans
there were only mass stabbings yesterday
and i’m fairly sure
lady liberty just miscarried
baby new year
blood is running down ellis island
into muddied waters of the bay
melt down the scales of justice
brass knuckles
will have their say

truthfully

if love was enough
we wouldn’t need
poetry

very much alive

this little poem

feels like poetry

has died

then it remembers

even that

is a poem

it’s very much alive

after the quake

trudged out of bed
late this morning
not willing to join
this new shaken world
to find my twin sons
seated on the couch
with furrowed brows
tears in their reddened eyes

they’ve endured bullying at school
for being autistic
the whole of their twenty-year-old lives

how horrified they were earlier this year
when they saw a presidential candidate
make fun of a disabled person
during a campaign speech

now that candidate has won the presidency
my sons asked me,

“Mom, we’re scared. How could this happen?”
“How could Americans elect a bully?”
“How will we be safe?”
“Will we be allowed to go to college?”
“Will we be institutionalized?”

answer them, mr. president-elect…

i am a mother
i am a woman
i will unleash hell
before your eyes

old goats

yesterday

after 108 years of enduring a curse

the cubbies won the world series

but that’s not what made it a banner day

it was because i

remembered

to forget you

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