poem of the day 03.23.16

no chance

before the dust clears

on suicide bombs

the blood wiped off the tile

from this week’s horror show

the victims become talking points

for politicians and demagogues on fluff tv

for shitty poets with writer’s block

and short attention spans

their bloviating creating

enough pure energy

to make small nuclear bombs

that i’d love to have

shoved back into their mouths

before gently pushing

their inflated heads and egos

down deep under

the wine dark

quiet

sea

to burst

and pop

like fart bubbles in a dirty bathtub