Howl some more, asshole

Howl some more, asshole

The best minds of my generation were never made.

Starved in Africa. Killed by mercenaries in Latin America.

Inflation, recession,

economic expansion

made them unnecessary,

expensive,

unincluded.

The surviving children of the scam-o-rama

were

retro-

Reagan-eyed

zombies

of doom and gloom,

slapped by an invisible backhand into the marketplace:

looking for temp-to-permanent employment,

waiting for a bigger piece

of the pyramid scheme,

lunatic-box gentrification,

bargain rates for famine, plague,

chic designer executioner’s hood,

this Best Possible World

where poetry, philosophy,

and Mom’s decorative wax banana

have minimum connection

to every game-show host who will never ask:

 

“How outraged,

how insane should we be,

that the world is made rotten by pimps?”

 

About A.Broad

Ex-poet. Philosophy burnout. Writing again. I heart: Rock n Roll + Lisa. Baseball. Fatherhood. Apple Pie. Don’t Tread on me. Shalom, yo. View all posts by A.Broad

One response to “Howl some more, asshole

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