Tricky Dicky

Just the other day I had felt like dying. My life was tired and old.

My white shoes were grass stained and reeking of bad poetry.

The mower was being held in contempt by the gas can

and both had just been informed of the higher cost of oil;

Due to the tremendous growth in the Chinese economy

and much higher than expected carbon emissions in India.

Bukowski was renting space in my head for free, while Ginsberg

Howled over the dandelions that were overtaking the lawn.

All fertilizer sales had been suspended, fears of

Homegrown terrorism was growing like weeds and widespread.

Rod McKuen had been apprehended and arrested

Shortly after nine by the department of Homeland Security

Caught cashing my checks from the Mexican government,

 Using an illegal immigrant’s photo ID for proof of citizenship.

With most all of my autobiographical accounts overdrawn

“Insufficient funds” due to a liberal sense of entitlement

On the part of left wing politics, and subjugated to prosecution of fraud.

Dante wrote me that Hell had frozen over,

And he had moved to Miami to be closer to his dead mother.

Death was looking attractive as

Eighteen year old virgins talked of their affairs

While wearing their public nudity, like warrants

Arresting me, and tempting me with the suicidal promises

Of four hour erections,

And an elongated epic for better penetration.

I was sure I wanted to die, as my world was empty and I was alone…

When I heard that little voice in my head say

“Killing yourself because no one understands you is rubbish,

If you kill yourself, do it because everybody is on to you.”

 2010 © T.S.