In Commemoration of This Day

On this, a very average day, one
Featuring a bleary sky and middling
Coolness for the season, what I did
Was ordinary, hardly worth describing,
But I will, as neither one of us,
On such a day as this, can claim
That we have better things to do.
Our assets' values plummet almost
Daily, due to pestilence. Our nation's
Ruled by a fool, as we, the ruled,
Prove ourselves, through him and our
Malign beliefs, to be the basest sorts
Of creatures. “Boilerplate,” you're
Thinking, and you're right. What do
These mean to us? Not very much.
Let's talk specifics. My granddaughter
Came today. We played. She's splendid
Company, although her fitful toilet
Training left me with an empty toilet,
Shitty underpants and a great turd
(Which, thankfully, was very firm)
Upon my Persian rug. We napped
(When she does, so do I), and, when
I woke, her mother'd come. She
Rifled my refrigerator, ate, described
Her day, then wrapped her daughter up,
And drove away. I, in turn, went out
For liquor. Now, I sit. I'm getting
Drunk, and watching as the Elkhorn
River, fated by geography and physics,
Flows toward the Platte. There isn't
Too much daylight left. There isn't more
To make you read. This March the Tenth,
Like those before it, wasn't of much
Consequence, and soon will fade away.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 31 times
Written on 2020-03-11 at 01:10

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