Special to the Blog: a little late, but still within "the week." A few down-to-earth, blue collar poems. Enjoy!
Raised Right
We are impressive to people.
We were "raised right."
We know how to work hard for very little.
We know the games people play
and how to play them.
So what if to be "raised right"
we had some rough wake-up calls
and sleepless nights
as our God our moral center
slipped through our fingers?
You can't spend all your time
blaming the birth-givers.
They did what they thought was "right."
They were "raised right."
And when they had us, ha ha—
they were scared-shitless kids.
We were their wake-up calls.
Now we slip through their fingers—
but not like sand, like salt.
Some grains stick and don't pass through.
Working at Walmart
Past one irregular step,
where the sole of the foot
is still shattered, skinned, flayed,
exposing cracks of skin and
blood underneath.
Try to be happy, damn you!
There are many others worse off.
Play a little into the sham.
Daub a little in un-tempered mortar.
Then, go home and forget
in clouds of smoky ringlets,
praising God—as the Heavenly
Hosts sing songs of victory
and assent while your body
trudges on in the muck.
The Offended
Do you have the right to be offended?
Will your offense kill you like a bullet?
What gives you the right to assume your offense
means something to me, to everyone?
I think of the greatest generation.
Are you keen to make mine the worst,
An offended generation, offended by the free speech
men and women have fought & died for?
Where is your strength, your ethics, your civility?
Do you assume everyone else is civil?
If you do, this is a fault—naive, like you.
Repent of your offense.
It is time to grow up.
You are a budding flower
in the Spring of life.
Yet, it is now Fall.
When you droop and drop, there will be no sound
& the offended generation
will inherit the Winter it deserves.
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