Dojo In the Hotel

Whack! For the 4 o’clock Mondays that leave circles under everyone’s eyes Along with dry souls sucked clean of kaleidoscope and chaotic color Whack! For the deeper alphabet from apples to french fries Which loom over the small but large ones bringing only dread Whack! For the up and out and up and out all across the stars and stripes Whack! For the trees and the basketball which were once tangible That now sit decaying and deflated with no frogs to scale or stars to bounce But whack! For the shiny optimism that melts in the scorching sun Whack! For the cold white tarp that creates the haven under peaks of grey, now gone Whack! For constant screeching cries of ‘cockroaches in the cleaning supplies!’ And how they never die Whack! For the car skidding off the icy road in the gone state Sirens blaring but no one hears or remembers And whack! For the doors that were never locked but never opened Whack! For Future, not Past or Present Only Future knows- knows all too well- that it is still not effulgent, will never be Whack! For the stupidity we all indulge in when free and young And whack! For forgetting too fast but too slow how to have fun Whack! For knowledge of billions of protagonists walking all around In their own stories terrifying everyone else Whack! That bag for all it’s worth A shiny 15.75$