Looking back, it seems I've made a giant plastic nest.
Plastic cars -plastic totes- plastic toys
plastic guns- plastic utensils- plastic boats
plastic bags- plastic Easter eggs- plastic remotes.
Plastic Jesus hanging from a plastic cross
a plastic grimace on his perfect plastic face.
I've fallen hard for plastics
so cheap
so practical
no more slivers of glass in the soul
It's really God-like
it's an all-around helpful entity
we can dump our excessive baggage.
It'll never complain- it never goes away...
Plastic was the answer
until it worked its way into the food chain.
Back in the day, at about the age of 7 or 8
mother(step) schooled me on how to wash dishes.
The plastic plates were the toughest to master.
Mother(step) would run her finger over the surface.
Like a pimply teenager's face, all but impossible to get rid of all the grease.
She'd disgustedly toss the plastic God
back into the greasy suds.
I'd scrub the greasy sin from my plastic God...
over and over again.
Plastic has polluted me. I have a plastic brain.
The price I pay for sleeping with plastic people.
The cold calls were upsetting at first,
after a while, I almost wished for the
heavy breathing silence.
It was satisfying to think of someone
on the other end sighing disgustedly
at my own mechanical voice message.
Later I imagine that person, working
a second or third job,
desperate and tired fingers thumbing through
lists of possibles, only to come to rest on
my number, and my scorning disregard.
Of course it’s all probably computer generated
and automated. No actual humanity involved,
except for the scam artists. They have
definitely got the human touch.
Maybe I can get a tele-marketing job?
Most poets have the necessary skills to be
disruptive, intrusive, and convincing,
and I can always wave my conscience
goodbye as I hunt you all down.
The cold calls were upsetting at first,
after a while, I almost wished for the
heavy breathing silence.
It was satisfying to think of someone
on the other end sighing disgustedly
at my own mechanical voice message.
Later I imagined that person, working
a second or third job,
desperate and tired fingers thumbing through
lists of possibles, only to come to rest on
my number, and my scorning disregard.
Of course it’s all probably computer generated
and automated. No actual humanity involved,
except for the scam artists. They have
definitely got the human touch.
Maybe I can get a tele-marketing job?
Most poets have the necessary skills to be
disruptive, intrusive, and convincing,
and I can always wave my conscience
goodbye as I hunt you all down.
Sparkling rivers on a moonlit night
The starry sky covers them with its light
Softly signing songbirds adding romance
Nature's song so sweet, it creates a trance
The scent of roses suspended in the air
Exotic floral fragrances drawing them so near
The silky feeling of soft breeze on smooth skin
The touch of cool grass warming them within
They kiss.....
She tastes like caffeine
He tastes like cigarettes
They get up, walk away
Thinking disgustedly to themselves
NEXT !!
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