BACK IN THE DAY, MARTHA DUMPTRUCK HAD IT EASY

Symptoms of a deteriorated body banged against the walls of hedony,
Disappear in the numb overhang of a weeping morning.
Boxes of Girl Scout cookies held in suspension by Imogene Coca's bra,
But underneath the nicotine, stains of love tattoo your bed.

Read the storied lines on the faces of Spring Street denizens,
Corruption of body and mind intertwined with the smell of fine wine.
See her tears hit cracked lips then sucked in salty relief,
Believe it:  anyone can crack in two and shoot you.

You trust the hands on steering wheels of cars oncoming,
You trust the figureheads to act decisively
Derisively choosing peace despite inevitable economic windfall.
Blonde bombshelters in heat bounce by and won't sit in my lap.

In prog rock you trust Cantonese noodling guitars 
to hypnotize Chinese delirium,
"An MSG headache to stay" and I'll be on my way.
Show me the way to tortured tampons masquerading as egg rolls,
Drop your dumplings this way Hun I will mature.

Extinguished thoughts of Panzer sticks as elbows click and tangle,
Water your friends with phone calls 
or suffer cold shoulders in exile to Boulder.
"Hot ass fault landing mauls even cat's paw",
The perfect aphorism for the evolution of your carcass.

I refuse to seek refuge from Lithuanian refugees,
As all Americans are descendants of people 
who abandoned their countries for money.
Religious freedom a myth along the lines of Ickybod Qwain,
Freedom from religion more sought these days 
than love drops poured on pain.

The battle of the bulge ebbs and flows in the new millennium,
As models chomp on spear ribs and remove their ribs,
As Berthas chomp on pigfat in liposuctive anticipation,
Back in the day, Martha Dumptruck had it easy

{POETRY}