Friday, April 20, 2012

Wallet to Wallet

Selling your ideals on my porch
Thinking that every cliché
Will make it all happen:
All sewn up, in the bag,
All packaged up and ready to go
While you are talking smack of your planet
In inbred proportions,
Smacking your lips with profane zealotry
Nothing more than a parking lot gull
Scavenging for whatever scraps you can procure
Attempting to hammer your point 
In the middle of my lawn
For all to see and hear
While dodging bricks and stares
Shoving down the stairs 
With a vulgar laugh and a pious façade
Begging to add my name to your clipboard
So that I’ll find nirvana in windows and siding
Or in the sign in the skies
Or in that chemical that will turn
My neighbors green with envy
As they hide their children
From your pamphlets
And your f-bombs
That you drop on the other side 
Of the screen door smoke screen
Making them wonder what happened 
To the cookies and the brushes.

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