“Four O’ Clock”

c. 2020 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(7-20)

Too early in the morning.

No matter how I have tried to regain a regular pattern of sleep in retirement, my efforts have failed. Each night has remained unpredictable. Up at midnight? Up at one, two, three, or four o’clock? Of course. Anything works when you yourself do not… ho, ho, ho. Look out below! The spin of a coin could decide my fate just as easily. Heads or tales? None of this matters. Name your poison.

Without a set schedule, I have been free to write at any hour. Free to express any thought in virtual ink. My only difficulty has been in choosing a beverage of choice to accompany these unpredictable sessions. Beer or coffee? Sometimes, just filtered water. Again, it does not matter.

Spin the Wheel of Fortune.

So, let us begin:

America

So full of right and wrong

The riffs of a Bo Diddley song

Magnatone turned to ten

I’ll go there again

Come with me, friend

Keep me hoping

Keep me praying

Keep me upright, all night, out-of-sight

This ain’t no Golden Globes

No pins in my ear lobes

Don’t you know

No congressional probes

No pep rally in white robes

There’s a riot going on

Just before the dawn

Timbers of the temple start to crumble

It keeps me humble

Never fear

The end is near

But I am here

With a Silvertone hi-fi

Vinyl records from the five-and-dime

Alvin Cash & The Crawlers

Doing ‘Twine Time’

Step and sweat

We won’t forget

Heels kick and voices shout

We’re stepping out!

Bumbling, stumbling

Showing off for the talent scout

Taking a dose of H. S. T.

Shotgun golf

Fear and loathing on the campaign trail

Or in Las Vegas

Got a tiger by the tail

Greetings to Gonzo

It used to be this way

But look now, it’s yesterday

Fools argue over the ‘Lost Cause’

Of Jefferson Davis and General Lee

Like we are still living in 1863

How can kids raised on ‘The Boss’

End up falling for that hooked cross

Waving battle flags

Behind their sandbags

Big-tired trucks

Aw shucks!

Confederate Chevrolets

Bring us back to yesterday

Three-quarter ton

There’s a cross burning to be done

A war un-won

But never surrendered

Never tendered

Never given up

Take this bitter cup

If you please

In the year of 2020

Kids still disagree

Over slavery

It seems to me

We should have outgrown the habit

That mixed up, rascally rabbit

‘What’s up, Doc?’

Preaching pundits trying hard

To turn back the clock

Falwell risen from the grave

We’ve got a nation to save

Mother Mary and the Holy Ghost

Outside agitators

From that state on the coast

Leaders boast

About defending the core

Hear the raven

Squawking ‘Nevermore!’

But you’ll not read that tale

In anything on sale

At a newsstand run by the man

Whitewash, oh my gosh

Put it on thick

Make that color stick

Heavy, heavy

In this land of the free

Warring factions, split

On the question of democracy

Vandals vie for attention

Politicians lie too often to mention

How’d we get here?

How’d we careen into this year?

Deep in the ditch

2020 is a son-of-a-bitch!

Better stock up on snacks

And garage your SUV Cadillacs

There’s judgment at the door

Again the raven: ‘Nevermore!’

Quipping, quipping

The stock market is slipping

My ass I am gripping

To keep it out of the fire

Corona cases again on the rise

God help us, before we die

I’ll learn to fly

Into the azure sky

Over the frosted mountain crest

I passed the test

Fumbling my pencil

As exam time expires

That truck with the big tires

Is out of gas on the overpass

Steam from under the hood

That rebel decal in the window

Does it no good

It’s understood

By even the marionettes

With heads full of wormwood

This century of horror born

Made me sit up in bed

Early in the morn

Let me warn

Women and children off this ship of state

We’re taking on water

Waves of political fodder

Sinking fast

This trip to the past

Has been a blast

MAGA hats and brickbats

Pale rider on the horizon

It’s all been done

Cowboy hero points his gun

Arms akimbo

A nation in limbo

Looks death in the eye

And shouts

‘I see you!’

My tale is true

I still have the discipline of a newspaper editor. Deadlines are set in stone. A regular routine has to be maintained to stay employed. So finishing written work means I get beer and a nap.

Until it begins all over again. Tomorrow morning, four o’ clock.

Comments about ‘Words on the Loose’ may be sent to: icewritesforyou@gmail.com

Write us at: P. O. Box 365 Chardon, OH 44024