complicit

i want to do something

about all this.

i want to be a part of the change

that needs to happen.

i want to walk away from my job,

as much as i love it,

and devote my life to

doing something

about all this.

i want to sleep on the ground

in washington.

i want to wake up next to you,

pour you a cup of coffee,

then hold your hand

and march.

i want to stand there,

proud.

not saying a word.

holding my fist in the air.

not leaving when they

tell me to.

i want them to kick my ass

because i wouldn’t listen.

because i was doing something

about all this.

i want to share a tent with

strangers.

i want to meet all the ones

like me.

normal people

who want to do something

about all this.

i want to stand with millions

on the capitol steps.

i want to never leave until

something has been done

about all this.

months and months like that.

living like slobs, and

wholly indecent people.

 

but i can’t walk away

from this.

i have a job.

they provide insurance.

i’ve got student loans.

 

if our credit rating

gets trashed, we won’t

ever own a home.

and maybe a baby will

find us someday soon.

i’ll have to work.

plus,

our house is comfortable.

and it might be cold in

washington.

the strangers might

smell bad,

or steal,

or kill me.

when i’m doing something

about all that.

 

i can’t risk it.

tonight i’m going to

eat at a real cool spot.

it’s a trendy banh-mi place

with green-haired cashiers.

i’m not afraid of them

because they’re kindly

taking my money.

 

we get along as we

share a moment

in exchange for getting

what we each want.

 

i will keep reading the news,

though.

hopefully someone does something

about all this.

 

 

 

 

 

 

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for amanda

she’s a sweetie pie,

peachy peach

apple of my eye.

mac and cheese,

knobby kneed

big butt to squeeze,

lovely kind of girl.

egyptology,

song bird quality.

her hands are always

cold.

she kisses warm,

and does no harm,

the world is lucky

for her charms.

she holds my hand

when i drive our car.

her touch feels

very, very good.

this poem is nice,

but cannot suffice

to say you well enough.

which is:

you’re wonderful.

and smart and true,

you pick me up when

i am blue.

keeping me seeing

even when i’m being

a grumpy old wingoo,

i’m so lucky

to be with you.

i love you dear,

my darling wife, today

and foralwaysmore.

still, i’ve got one last ask

before i let go

your curvy-wurvy spine,

“will you please,

please, please please

be my valentine?”