winning the war on
terror
the douche bags
eating pancakes at 3pm
at a sidewalk café
they’re winning the war on terror
better than i am
with every sip
of a mimosa they know they’ve
got god on their side
today i had a banana
some chicken and i watched a lackluster film
i almost died running five miles
almost hit by an ice cream cone truck
careening down the road in the bike lane
trying to drum up business in november
okay, so i guess i’m
winning the war on terror too
mornings like this when the radio doesn’t work
and my head feels like someone is pressing down
i wonder if i’ve drank up
any and all inspiration
i should’ve asked the ice cream cone truck driver
what he thinks about climate change
instead of spitting in his window
although i’m sure he thinks it’s good for business
i should’ve asked him
if he thinks a seventy degree day in mid-autumn
could be construed as winning the war on terror
or i should give up the poems
this silly novel that simply won’t write itself
use the better part of the grocery money
to start drinking top shelf
fund some rebels in the middle east to support
or i could become one of those dudes
who sleeps in until noon on sunday
sunglasses and a permanent five o’clock shadow
the dude forever in sweat shorts or pajamas
who proudly reads less than one book a year
who meets his douche bag friends
at some café in manhattan for brunch
talking about how great the weather is
how much i love pancakes with syrup or jelly
while everyone around me talks about how bad war is
and how the mimosas here
are simply killing it today. 
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