hating the lawn chair people
they get on the bus
an old couple
followed by an ugly woman
and her ugly daughter
they are all holding lawn chairs
i watch them pay their fare
and find seats near the front of the bus
feeling an intense hatred for these people
pink fleshed
casual summer clothes
i wonder why
was i not raised right?
had i spent too much time
fat and alone as a child?
these are good citizens after all
an extended family out for the evening
taking in a free concert in the park
or a ballgame
they are doing what millions
of other americans are doing
passing these final summer days
but i cannot see that
i am some kind of repulsive man
a greasy-haired cretin with a hard-on
carrying two magnum bottles of wine
hoping to finish them that night
trying to forget the job and everything else
i look at these people
such dull expressions on their faces
such blank stares
the kind who participate in the current zeitgeist
the ones who feel an obligation to attend
every civic event
the ones who find it their duty to barbeque
every weekend between memorial day
and labor day
the ones who only have sex one way
the ones who vote republican or democrat
the ones who like to eat outside
with the sun setting in the sky
the ones who attend church
the god fearing
or the ones who are too hip for god
the ones who cannot go out without ten
of their closest friends
walking in tandem
the ones leading an un-examined life
the ones who watch thanksgiving day parades
the ones who drink imported coffee
the temperate ones
the ones who never go mad looking in the mirror
the ones satisfied with forty-hours a week
fifty-two weeks a year
one beer at the bar on a friday night
the ones who go to disneyland
on their only two weeks of salvation
the best seller readers
the ones who watch stand-up comedy and laugh
the reality television watchers
the ones who eat balanced meals
and go to bed before ten o’clock
the blockbuster movie watcher
and the art museum hags
these lawn chair people infesting the atmosphere
with carbon dioxide
polluting the earth with their smiles
there is no cure for them
they walk this rock like roaches
and the best that you can do is sit there watching
hating
your soul rotting into a black goop
that these psychos will one day use for oil
or energy to run an electric car
late for a picnic by a lake
of crystal blue water
smelling oddly of piss on a nice spring day.
08.17.10
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