Stop By

This would be the time to come to visit.
Everything that's wrong has drifted
Out of sight to sea. I called. My mother
Wasn't home. I missed an hour of her
Self-pity. I've already read the news,
And breathed the fumes of endless lying,
Fascism, and racial hatred, toxic odors
Always wafting through my shithole Yankee
Home. I read two poets yesterday, two wretched,
Precious natterers, who write for other
Hot-house flowers thriving in their seminars.
I laughed. No one outside their circle ever will
Encounter them, none of the fascists, no one decent.
Likewise, my mom goes unheard, and all those
Vile politicians can't be seen. My TV's off.
I'm on my porch. It's 98, but, in the shade,
Life's rather pleasant. I'm enjoying vodka mixed
With lemonade. Truly, if you've ever thought
Of coming, now is when you should.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 73 times
Written on 2020-08-28 at 22:52

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