“cleaning house”

for the proprietor of Ultra Lounge who chose to vacuum during my poem in the middle of the set...

for the proprietor of Ultra Lounge who chose to vacuum during my poem in the middle of the set…

when the show ends
when the glitter wears off
the vacuums come out
they pack away tables
like we ever needed anything
but our voices
like these amplifiers and stools
stood for anything

we are poets
these words are for the living

if you truly understood
the temporal briefness of your life
in comparison to the mountains
or the rivers that cut through
the land we share
and often destroy
you would show reverence
for these words
or the planet
like rude fools with vacuum cleaners
cleaning the room while the poet spits
we ruin the lakes, scorch the sky
make landfills where there ought be homes
waste water,
bomb villages full of children
in the name of justice

shame on you
for the violence in your rude incivility
better you drown
in the burning timbers of a forest fire
better you sleep in a bed of stingrays
and drink rubbing alcohol
than live a life devoid of words
absent of poetry
my pity is for your soul
angry and full of contempt
I know these muscles
have trained them well
being better than you
is the only thing
I can take away
from our interactions

thank you, universe
for deliverance from
passive aggressive rage

or maybe that is what this poem is about
and I have learning to do

I don’t know

what I do know,
is, “I ain’t the old me”
he would have ran across the room
snatched the plug from the wall
called you out your name
but getting better
comes in stages
if these words are growth
thank the moon for growth
and the newness of the sunrise to do better…


2 responses to ““cleaning house”

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