Before Leaving
Her Last, Best Bit
If there’s hell down below,
we’re all gonna go.
…….Curtis Mayfield
She went out screaming
at the sky, her heart a
furnace of hate, her
tongue a fiery whip.
She lashed the hot
air those final days,
celebrating the efficient
murders carried out by
her beloved Death Star.
She cursed and spit and
puked out her disdain
of all who’d opposed
the righteous slaughter
of children. So when I
heard she’d expired on
a cold table, silent, under
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the knives of strangers
I laughed my head off.
That woman really knew
how to set up a punchline.
Yes! Nader for President!
The first time was too soon,
habituated belief still too
strong. The right moment
approaches, though, for
here shines a light,
a dim, smoldering glow,
the flash of brutal
disappointments gone
to flame but light to
step into nevertheless,
light to revel in as victor,
symbol or sign.
Deliver the message
of abject dislocation
from that poisoned obesity,
the Democratic Party
and set in motion its
long overdue demise.
Blow it down in searing
defeat, fashion it a choking
rubble, then lead the choir
in a quiet but brighter song.
Local News
The weatherman’s yelling
over the anchor woman
who just described
with a lovely smile
details of the murder
of an entire family on
vacation in the Pocono’s.
He’s leaping into the clouds,
hollering about a cold front
running headlong our way.
It’s going to be cold tonight!
he’s screaming. Really cold!!
Before Leaving
even at my funeral
let there be a bit of truth,
then the good clean
dirt.
---Bukowski
why wait for
the shovel?
let it be said
I was a fool
for the open
road, the bottle
and a particularly
anguished rage.
let it be known
of my contempt
for the orderly,
the correct,
the pleasant
and for the
love of blood,
death and war.
reveal also
the suffering
I heaped onto
this insufferable
world, for which
I now humbly ask
forgiveness
but expect none.
however, here
is gratitude
for the vistas
and the torch
of passion that
lit many dark
nights. Here is
reverence for
a friend’s voice
in the storm,
a child’s sight
mingling with
mine, those
first warm winds
of spring and this
moment alive
with these thoughts.
Paul Lojeski
