poem of the day 09.19.11

mad

the cat is mad
because i won’t let her lay on me
she paces back and forth
wailing and wailing, waiting for her comeuppance

the wife is mad
because i yell about poetry
threaten booze soaked suicide
and ruin the few hours that we get together
on these hurried weekends

the mailman is still mad
about not getting a christmas tip last year
so the bills and magazines arrive wrinkled
and torn

the cockroaches are mad
because the floor is mopped
of food and old wine
because the walls have be caulked and sealed
from their constant barrage

the cable box is mad so it stopped working

old friend
in old cities
mad because i won’t accept their kind of god
because their idea of country
has never been good enough for me

the american flag is mad at the world
so it drops bombs and bankruptcy

the bar drunks are mad
wasting sunday afternoons
talking to old ladies perched on rotten wood stools
instead of slinging salted insults at each other
in between downs of the game of the week

the president is mad at his sagging approval ratings

the poetry rags are mad too
because the word is not up to snuff
because they have to sift through mountains
and mountains of bullshit for one decent line

the landlord is mad
because the rent check got lost in the mail

the garbage men are mad
at their big salaries and ample pensions
so they leave trash strewn all over the street

the co-workers are mad
at the ceaseless hours revolving
on the slowly moving cock

the teachers are so mad that they cannot teach

the children are mad
because they are learning that there is
really nothing to look forward to
because they will ultimately become their parents
and suffer the insults of adulthood

the ballplayers are mad at another losing season

and the artists are mad
because there is nothing there
for them to paint

the people are mad
because there are no jobs
because they are losing homes and bank accounts
because there is no one left to lead

they are mad because the dream has failed them

days like today
where the sun shines the brightest in this hell
it seems as though the whole world
is mad about something or another

you’re mad at me
and i’m mad at you
as we sit here on the common couch
with four walls staring back at us

searching for a different kind of anger
to crystalize our hatred anew.