Mustard, mayo, cheddar cheese
And slivers of dead protein, please.
No bread (I’ve got some in my purse).
As lunches go, I’ve had much worse.
Mass shootings happen all the time
Without a reason, but with rhyme:
For thoughts and prayers and guns, demand
Will spike, but changes won’t be planned.
Still, best be safe: Shore up your stock
Of weaponry in case the shock
Of this one causes such regret
That we’ll do what we haven’t yet,
By which I mean, a single thing…
I kid! We won’t. Let freedom ring.
Between me and my target waits
A password: Guarding every gate’s
Another test for my synapses,
Feeding gleefully on lapses
In my access to mnemonic
Recollective aids. Demonic
Visions writhe and dance before me,
Pouting, doubting, they implore me,
What’s the make of your first car?
Who’s been your favorite friend so far?
Your youngest sibling’s nickname was…?
What job was that your daddy does?
They may as well ask, If a train
Departs from Barcelona, Spain…
Because the chance that I might guess
A single right response is less
Than that I’d properly explain
Exactly when that northbound train
Would meet its southbound counterpart
Fresh off its Gallic grand départ
Because my smart-ass gene won’t let
Me answer straight, so I forget
From one prompt to the next what I
Might write so I can just get by
The password step and do whatever
I was there to do. I’ll never
Have to worry that I’m hacked
Because my code’s not logic-backed
And so cannot be deconstructed
Later. But for now, I’m fucted.
Push came to shove
I failed to make the choice
I’m not the man
Too bad for him
I have his shoes
I shy from unfamiliar things
And cringe from that which newness brings
The hackneyed, overused and trite
Are what permit me sleep at night
Originality is fine
For others’ peace of mind, not mine
Unless I’ve heard it all before
I won’t be listening anymore
For fear I’ll hear the weird (read: scary)
Craven? Sure. Ashamed? Not very.
They’d donned the uniform and then
They’d gone to fight with other men
Upon the ground we laid them in
Perhaps a stone to show they’d been
At all. They had their neighbors’ backs
If not command of all the facts
Perhaps that made heroic acts
In anonymity the tax
Their leaders levied. They whose breaths
Were harvested for shibboleths
Of lesser men who saw their deaths
As ZIP codes in success’ address
In recompense have earned this day
On which the inattentive pay
Lip service while their children play
And politicians say, Let’s pray.
Only mammals dress in pants.
You don’t find pantaloons on plants
Or lederhosen on a snake.
That sailor-suited duck is fake
But even he is trouser-free.
That’s Nature’s haberdashery.