1.31.2011

Outlawed Pleasures of the Nuclear Age

I want to live
in a stick-built house
where I can hear
an old man
snoring.
(That kind of comfort
can't be bought
much less traded
by Brookes Bros. boys.)
Instead I settle
for volleys of lead
aimed at the coalmine canary
and if they so happen
to pierce precious lungs,
so be it;
I'll crank out the obit.

Enough of the wailing.
The proof's in the posture:
What kind of angel
leaves the seat up?
If it comes down
to the break or the bend
confer with your local
congressperson.

And when that fails
to calm your seas
flip a coin, catch it
invest it in gold.
Like inside jokes
with high school friends
some warnings, if heeded
never get old.

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