day SEVEN HUNDRED and SEVENTY

these chicken wings don’t run

the back

of the waiter’s t-shirt

has a tattered american flag on it

and it says

if you love america

you’ll love this bar

but if i’m sitting in here

then surely the two ideas can’t be intertwined

i don’t love america

to tell the truth

i don’t really like this bar

with its american flags everywhere

and its corny fallen military hero motif

ten television sets

half of them set to espn

the other half set to fox news

and every table and bar stool

full of doughy white dudes

dressed like they’re off to the big game

or set for a nazi rally

no, i don’t like this place

but i love their buffalo wings

and i'm so hungry
for all i care
the waiter could be wearing a t-shirt
with uncle sam's

sinister, stupid, tired-ass glaring

back at me

one menacing, geriatric finger

painted electric orange and dripping goodness

pointing at me

as if to say

listen, you commie wimp

these here chicken wings

they sure as shit

don’t fucking run
  

which means

i can fake being a patriot

at least until my belly is filled

and i could swallow lady liberty whole

if she came waltzing on in here
dressed only in hot sauce.

--John Grochalski 

day SEVEN HUNDRED and SIXTY NINE

MOTHERFUCKER

or what about these men who

suck christ’s cock

while raping teenage girls?

what about the sycophants and

parasites who choose to

give them power?

one word of truth and

the revolution begins

--John Sweet

day SEVEN HUNDRED and SIXTY EIGHT

Small Town Romance

You could almost weep for the bankrupt bartender,

but watching his hands for a sign of mercy

is the very definition of a wasted day. Over the

entrance they've hung a sign that insists you go away.

Habit is the law of the land. Pride and prurience

are rewarded, just as empathy is openly despised.

They'll piss on you just as soon as leave you dead

translates the Latin on our family crest. Get out

the shovel there's another truth we need to bury.

That old couple shares the window table every day

about this time, the blood softly clanking around

their gray bodies. He worked a double as often as he could

and she did the same. So went youth and dreams.

The streets are crumbling and our chief exports are cancer

and cruelty. Lately we've all gone unlisted in the phone

directory. Blank pages like a thing a ghost would write.

--Kristofer Collins

day SEVEN HUNDRED and SIXTY SEVEN

Censorship Stupidity

I have just tried to view a website
To see one of my poems
But I'm told that I can't, unless
I can verify my age with a credit card
I do not own a credit card, so I
Cannot see a poem, that I fucking wrote
Because I can't prove that I am
Over 18, the only alternative is
To send a copy of my driver's
License, well guess what ?
I don't own a fucking driving
License, either !
What kind of pathetic bullshit
Is this ?
I only want to read a poem that
I wrote myself. I am not asking
To see porn, or instructions on
How to make a bomb.
Just words, that's all.
But words can be the most
Dangerous  things to the
Status quo, if they're used
Properly

--Ian Copestick 

day SEVEN HUNDRED and SIXTY SIX

Kindergartener Cops a Plea

I never really got the book entitled -

All I Really Need To Know I Learned in Kindergarten’*

Until I saw our current Commander-in-Chief

Paint the World’s rooms with

Pee pee and poo poo

And say look at me

I’m a big boy in big boy pants.

We’re all so proud.

--John Stickney

day SEVEN HUNDRED and SIXTY FIVE

Eau de trump

seven bottles, each containing one of seven different cat farts

(courtesy of my clan: theo, fern, lola, beans, mimi, schmoopy, and vinnie vin)

that acrid smell of

pennies

the sewer smell that fills

the car

whenever we drive through Sewickley

near the burger king

an expressed anal gland

of a tom cat

fresh bird shit

febreeze,

oh,

and evergreen

--Heidi Blakeslee

day SEVEN HUNDRED and SIXTY FOUR

Duck and Cover

it was stupid

as if it could

save us

a placebo

of hope

in a

time of fear

and now the door

of nuclear threat

has opened again

and we have nothing

to save us from

the game of fools

except the shelter of words

duck and cover

duck and cover

duck and cover

--Thomas R. Thomas

day SEVEN HUNDRED and SIXTY THREE

dear donald,

i woke up the other day

wondering what it was like

to wake up and be you

to be the most hated man in the world

let me clarify though…i didn’t wake up thinking this

after seven hundred and some days

i try to give you as little head space as possible

i think i thought this maybe after my third double vodka

i was bored and went on twitter

and read a bunch of your stupid tweets

as if i were reading the lost works of basho

and with every mendacious word it got me wondering

what is it like to be you?

isolated in the white house

nothing but cold hamburgers and fox news to keep you company

millions of people hating the very sight of you

having to lie about the numbers who don’t

having to lie about your poll numbers and dick size

always the biggest idiot in the room

can’t trust anyone, not even your little traitor-tot sons

knowing that your administration has more leaks

that some of your shitty real estate

what does that feel like donald?

to be the scourge of the world

to have your name brought up with hitler in casual conversation

or that there will be oscar-party sized celebrations

when you’re finally carted off to jail?

i know i’ll be dancing in the streets

what does it feel like to stand in front of that morning mirror?

your bloated belly and orange hue looking back at you

your wife’s hateful eyes glaring back

the way she must freeze when you try and touch her

putin breathing down your neck

selling out your country to pay a life debt

having to pay off celebrity hacks to join you in golf

making up national emergencies to save face

all those years of being the kingpin of your own delusions… gone

all that free pussy you’d never get without that name…gone

knowing that you’ll never again have a moment of peace

for what?

to play plastic dictator?

to throw a tantrum on the world stage?

was it all worth it?

donald…it doesn’t even look like you like the job.        

--John Grochalski                                

day SEVEN HUNDRED and SIXTY TWO

Spidey

I am here in DC

to meet with Spider-Man.

There is a rogue lawman

trying to take everything he can.

Peter Parker needs to put

on his suit and spin his

web to get justice for

all. I know who the bad guy is.

He lives in the biggest

white house on the whole block.

Spidey, do not let him

get away with it like everybody else.

Do not take a bribe or

fall for his weapon of

lies. Shoot your web and wrap

him up and take him to the big house.

--Luis Cuauhtémoc Berriozábal