Dissertation of a Bigot on a Barstool

before you.

before I.

why, who and what is the wherefore?

why do the stars shine so?

don’t they know

there was war?

destructive?

yes, it destroyed all.

but the far stars...

don’t those stars know the dead?

can’t they see

where they are?

the sun is still shining, yes,

there behind that rising cloud,

the funny one of red edges,

which billows from the piles of rubble.

why, who and what is the wherefore?

through rough ruined sky.

I still see a star.

who am I?

I am I.

I was here then too,

didn’t you know?

I was that man who left the counter

when the brown man sat down,

I crossed the street to other stores

where there were no jews to buy from.

can’t they see up there?

are they away too far?

who am I?

I am I.

I was the guy who used the names well;

spic and chink and mick and dago.

I was the select guy, don’t you know?

and can’t associate with those types.

I always gave the speeches

at the neighborhood bar.

could you have joined me?

certainly! anyone’s welcome

at the local watering hole.

just one thing.  what church

do you go to?

ah yeah.

that’s fine.

they are a good righteous troop.

don’t want some other group

such as those roman dupes.

when can you come?

yesterday today tomorrow.

but wait a second,

there is another question.

where were you born?

where?

oh, that’s fine.

here in this good ol’ state.

it’s best to be native born

right in this country here

can’t be just anywhere. y’know.

wait!

just another small query.

this may sound strange,

but do you have the pure blood?

all white?

ah, all right!

we have to be careful, y’know.

a little tainted blood could mean

a stain to our station,

why, who and what is the wherefore?

those kind of people

meant for washing cars,

taking out the trash,

wiping the boot.

before you go in,

where did you stand in the last election?

registered as an independent?

well, may I ask

who you voted for?

no!

I’m sorry,

you would only clash in here.

until you learn your place.

one bad apple, y’know,

spoils the applesauce jar.

who am I?

I’m alone.

the barroom is empty.

they’ve all gone.

there is just you...just I.

and who are you?

it’s because we let the riff-raff in

that we had to fight that last war.

so there it is.

the

why, who, what and wherefore.

I tried to save the world

from those unlike we are.

before you

before I

die,

tell me what they are there for?

those lasting stars above?

don’t they know

there was war?

Modernacity

You see the same sights.

Ain’t one of them yours.

You look for the out.

It keeps you up nights

Dreaming of rich shores.

How the hell does a guy

Find success in this place?

Honest work’s obsolete

When rushing the rat race.

Praise is automatic

When you kiss ass enough.

The cheaters seem to win;

Their sincerity all bluff.

You ride the same route.

You spy the same eyes

Of anticipation.

Looking for the out

Hearing only lies

By automation

How the hell does a guy

Break the bonds of fiefdom?

Ain’t quality that counts,

It’s how cheap it gets done.

Our soul’s been put on sale,

Discounted away.

Tonight is like last night:

Tomorrow’s yesterday.

You ride the same route,

Read the same headline:

Wall Street declared God.

You look for the out.

They have covered life

With neon facade.

Day of the Machines

I was looking for a job today.

Traveled an ungodly amount of miles.

The bosses nodded, then shook their heads

With their little tiny bosses’ smiles.

“Ain’t got no place for you around here,

Just the way it stands here about, pal,

All these services you say you do,

We got a machine that does that now.”

Suppose you tell me if you can sell

Me a machine to feed my kiddies.

Have you got an electric switch box

That can soothe or gives love or pities?

Or suckle with automated milk?

Gives comfort with a cloth surrogater?

Educate them with wires here and there,

With an atomic emotion regulator?

You wind up these workers each morning

And pay them with grease and gas and oil,

But where do the people go then, bud?

Beneath the spade and under the soil.

Someday the great oceans will dry up.

Trees will wilt and die for lack of drink.

This forest will be a desert haunted

By a lingering lonely clunk...clink.

One giant machine puffing, huffing

Its groans and moans across a dead land.

It’ll move and quake and snort and cry

One rusty wish for a human hand.

Five fingers of flesh will it creak for

To pour cool lubricant on its cam,

To allow it rest from overheat

And let the hot pistons cease their ram.

But it will grind its last scratchy breath,

Then clink-clank-clunk into a junk heap.

But where will the people be by then?

Buried by the backhoe in final sleep.

I was looking for a job today.

Traveled an ungodly amount of miles.

The bosses nodded, then shook their heads

With their little tiny bosses’ smiles.

Lovers

Across the moon,

Disappearing outline,

Dark and wavy

In the horizon light.

I watched them go,

Climbing the cloudy lines

Across the puffs,

Dancing into the night.

I wonder then,

As I rest by my tree.

Where do they go

When off this leaf-strewn ground?

Do they dissolve

In lingering kisses?

Could they have left

In such silence of sound?

But I look up.

And see them flutter there

On the moon face.

And across the pale light.

They beat their wings

And are stirring the wind.

They became birds

Who fly into the night.

Fly with the birds

As if gloriously winged.

Find me a nest,

A feathered leafed tree.

They didn’t speak.

I never heard a thing

Watching the night

Disappearing with me.

Greeter

“’Lo.

How are you?”

How he was once:

Wide smile, yellowing teeth

Biting off a cigar laugh.

A glad-hand sharing whiskey;

Tousling a small child’s hair,

While I trailed his path.

How he once was.

“’Lo.

How are you?”

How he was once:

He had a foreman’s stare.

His greeting would involve

You with its gruff ease,

But he has come to cease,

Morning mist dissolved.

How such a long time is

Since it was he was.

The Greeter: 1900-1957