Where is this? Are we on Mars?
America – just count the stores,
capitalist carnivores.
That so-familiar movie score,
the swish of passing cars.
The city built on Brotherly Love
(Wells Fargo, Fitch and Abercrombie)
at the mercy of Pam Bondi
- was that a person, or a zombie? –
What was Madison thinking of?
Car’s no use: no place to park it.
Arrested at a funeral home.
No gravel pits, no air, no loam
- eat your heart out, Kristi Noem
(Checks Cashed Here, Medina Market)
Can this be noon? It feels like night.
What are these groupings? Hangouts? Dives?
They’re ganglions? They’re human hives?
Squandered talent, wasted lives.
Subway line blocks out the light.
Sidewalk garbage. Mostly men.
That hokey old verbal agility,
“insure domestic tranquillity”
correctional facility
for the heirs of William Penn.
Human beings are detritus
(Lifetime Nails, Olympic Sports):
To clean it up, we use the courts
Perhaps we ought to build more forts
- and thus our id comes back to bite us.
Grotesque Gimply the Green Eyed Witch
Was trying to rake her hair without a twitch.
Tangled burrs and fleas made her skull itch.
We watched in silence, myself and Fitch.
Fitch is the cat with who knows the switch.
For Grotesque Grimply can be a rather mean witch.
I sat in the dark, hiding away in the pitch.
The silent bat, who understands her niche.
There was a witch named Mary Fitch
that had an awful itch
to ditch her old phone
for the latest smartphone.
The sales person had given her a pitch
to switch
it did not matter which.
She had twitched
flinched
at getting a loan,
but she wanted to make the phone her own.
She was not rich,
hated to spend a lot of money;
it had not been funny
if there had been a glitch
in the phone which
would not have been,
yet she understood.
She had been bewitched,
broke the itch, ditched
switched.
She wasn't rich,
but she felt rich
with her new smartphone
that was her very own.
10/14/2019
for formerly Bonnie L. Garcia
and formerly Marci K. Garcia,
with fondness and humility
Holistically speaking, she you divorced
is one fantastic fitch on a quarterly
basis at minimum. That's three months of coerced
servitude, bloody attitude, disorderly
fits of public theatrics, so on and so forth,
for every single frcking year endured
with an egg-shedding nut-cracking whore worth
exactly half of everything procured
by you who's kissed his retirement goodbye
from the couch where you live in your mother's den.
Forget her! You're a peacock primed to fly!
As was I - which is why I get it when
I see a brother, sad and confounded,
that absent his wife, life's a mother; grounded.
Stuttered speech
There was once a man, let’s call him Fitch,
He bought tapes that in sleep Spanish teach,
Tapes skipping during night,
The plan failed to play right,
And his Spanish was a stuttered speech.
____________________________________________________
Tongue-in-cheek | 18.02.2017 |
There's an old witch
that lives down my road.
I swear she turned my boyfriend
into a toad.
She lives on her own,
with no one else there
and peeks through her curtains,
with an evil glare.
She spies on us kids
as we ride by,
I glimpsed her broom
on which she must fly.
There is a black cat
that hangs around,
no other pets are to be found.
She has this hair,
all big and wild,
enough in which to hide a small child.
She would scream and shout
at us sometimes,
whilst under her breath,
whispering her evil rhymes.
We see her creeping about at night,
whilst we hide out of her sight.
We call her Wiggy,
the evil old witch,
my Dad calls her
Nice Mrs Fitch.
My Tree, Branch and Twigs
My tree was the life I was given
The branch was the wife I met
The Twigs are my Kids
My tree was not nurtured
My branch went astray
The Twigs are my Kids
My tree was abandoned
My branch I left to nurture
The Twigs are my Kids
My tree is now whole
My branch has grown
The Twigs are my kids
My tree is now alone
My branch is on her own
My Twigs, my kids, are grown
My tree is old
My branch is?
I’ll always love my Twigs
Mark Michael Fitch
1-22-2008
Copyright ©2008 Mark Michael Fitch