“Poetry Punch”

 

c. 2020 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(8-20)

Too early comes the morning.

Wife 1.0 used to have a stone by her bedside. It read “What I think, I must speak.” This was a sentiment with which I could agree. Though the free offering of opinions can be a damning trait. Yet those in your orbit will never lose their bearings. Your position on the map will always be clear.

But on a recent night by the bonfire, I tried desperately not to engage in this habit. We were drinking with friends who had sharply different opinions than my own. Without thinking, one of my neighbors fiddled with the floodgate latch. Touching on the subject of politics. Tapping and tickling this lock in casual conversation. Innocently instigating another of our group. While I stiffened in silence.

Wild horses corralled behind my teeth. I did not want to spoil the evening. But the ranch railings were about to splinter under stomping hooves. So as a last resort, I simply chose to exit. Brusque and brutally quick.

I probably looked like an ass. But perhaps less so than if I had remained one second too long.

Later, after a lie-down on my couch, I woke up around 1:30 a.m., with wordsmithing impulses pounding the inside of my skull. Dirt and stones pummeled the back of my eyeballs. The stench of sweaty horse-flesh filled my nostrils.

“OUT! OUT! OUT!” equestrian snorts whinnied in my ears. “LET IT OUT!” I felt like a jockey before the big race. Or like a poor captive of Mr. Ed, as re-imagined by Quentin Tarantino. A demented, new-age charger.

Only one method could ease this pressure on my cerebrum. I needed to write:

Hop like Thumper

A bug on the bumper

Who dis?

Who dey?

Who is a Trumper?

Con man has a plan

He’ll give it all he can

Step up to vote

For the spray-on tan

Left and right

In a title fight

The knives come out

To the mob’s delight

Protests and rioters

Agent provocateurs

Cities burn after sunset

Here’s a story you won’t forget

The righteous emperor with no clothes

The future queen in pantyhose

Spit and stammer

Sickle and hammer

Anarchist versus iron fist

An olden tale

With a new plot twist

Trumper, Trumper

Baby buggy bumper

Bounce on the ground

Like crowd-control rounds

Tear gas, bang flash

Smoke and mirrors can’t hide this scene

I’m turning green

The White House lawn

With soldiers looking on

Guns at the ready

Steady, Freddie!

One party in power

And another if you seize the hour

Left or right, feel the might

Mercy me

Our duopoly

Hope and change

For our home on the range

But we heard that before

And I remember

A chill wind in September

Insider pick

Heal me quick

Vote out the tyrant

That I can do

But there’s no footwear but Blue Suede Shoes

Doobie doobie doo

I put a spell on you

Four years of torment

From our chosen government

Four more

Pick your store

It’s all made in China

What you waitin’ for?

Left side, right side

Bippity boppity boo

Tell me true

Did Lincoln die in vain

And Roosevelt’s body ride that train

So the kids of America

Can Facebook their pain

Twitter trash dredged up from the past

Make it last

Conflict sells

In this media hell

Get the shot stood live

Wendy’s on fire

A cop car with flat tires

Mannequin dragged out of Tar-zhay

That image won’t go away

Let us pray

For deliverance from the herd

Gone free as a bird

Lady Liberty in flight

Got the last plane out tonight

Before the quarantine

What a scene!

The emperor or a successor

You make the call

While he builds the wall

Either way there are bills to pay

The privileged pundits gone astray

Masked and distanced

Strutting like geese following a trail of saltines

The American Dream

God save Julian Bream!

Our heroes have gone to rest

While we sat at our desks

Scrolling, scrolling

Who’s got the latest polling?

The network feed

Skipped a beat

Their satellite is on all night

But static fills the moment

Unrest begins to foment

Swing the hammer hard

Like sonnets from the bard

This municipality

Is shooting skeet

Bumper, bumper

Who is a Trumper?

The system crashed

Our cities trashed

Chaos loose and surly

It’s so early

Let the voter beware

Let them stare

Which pill holds the magic?

Which one is tragic?

Each expert steeped in wisdom

While you run

Concrete blocks

And batteries in socks

Network news gets the shot

BREAKING NEWS

I see you!

I see what you want to do!

We’ll all get screwed!

BREAKING NEWS

Follow the rules

Masks and shots and flower pots

Forget-me-not

Who to believe?

I feel deceived

At the ballot box with my rabbit’s foot

Pipes full of soot

Shot up with possibilities

A shopping bag caught in the breeze

Blood on the blocks

In this school of hard knocks

Flip a coin in haste

Don’t let your vote go to waste

Choose your master

Forever after

I got no clue

What to do

But there’s a lucky penny

Stuck in my shoe

Once the stampede had been set free, I felt relieved. A pot of coffee vanished as I tapped away at the keyboard. Then, I felt sick at my stomach. Yet content.

My mission, once again, had been fulfilled.

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