be honest!
nobody's recording this
tell the truth
you feel that pervasive, grinding doom I talk about,
don't you?
if you didn't,
the explosion of Christian slogans on t-shirts would peter out,
the giant suburban churches would shrink into something human
if you didn't,
you wouldn't run up the national debt with such impunity
if you didn't feel the ugliest of grim reapers enveloping your vacation home; I'd sense sincerity when you tell me how good you're doing, when you bark
at me and sneer at me as I ring up and load up your bags of lawn fertilizer
as I lay in bed at night I wait to hear your screams of protest
wait to hear your howls waft through the clump of trees that screen my shack
wait to hear you whimper "Frank, we didn't know"
wait to hear you moan, "Frank, they raided our IRA and our slashed our equity"
wait to here you blubber, "Frank, why have they done this to us"
as I lay in bed at night with the clock ticking toward bedlam, I wait
wait for the bunting draped storm troopers to kidnap your children
wait for the cross wielding army to bulldoze your neighborhood
wait for the look on your face as the realization sinks in
"I'm not among the ones they intend to save"
as I lay I bed at night with my two loyal dogs who dig at fleas
as I lay in bed at night with my black-out curtains drawn tight, I wait
wait for the dawn of the age you prayed into existence
a world full of gangsters
a world full of big-shots
a world full of days with too much rain and days with too little rain
somebody shut those damn patio doors and hang the black out curtains
somebody pull my fuzzy slippers out of the wash and yank 'em over my feet
a world full of multi-taskers and time-a-holics and cosmetic surgery shows
a world that wobbles on it's axis and rues the day the humans took over
a world full of crime prevention diatribes and self-serving legislation
stick to your game-plan if you must, I'm staying home for eternity
sweep your side of the street if you can, I'm terrified of brooms
send me an e-mail when your discover the intractability of our horror
a world full of 24hr news outlets can't hold itself together forever
I'll be uni-tasking my way into that glorious celestial loophole
Frank says, "I'm a fifty-two year old amateur writer. I started writing poems when I was about nine. Since then, I've published no more than a handful of poems because I never felt I had anything to say. In fact, I quit writing for a number of years. I destroyed every copy of everything I ever wrote.
"Then George Bush came along. I suddenly found it impossible to keep the pen out of my hand.
"It took me a few years to gentle that voice into shape. But, I have it back now and I don't intend to let it fade away."