FUCK GOLF (for George Carlin)

Let's put on our polo shirts and ankle socks and go golfing.

Let's stand around on the beautiful expanse of green to hit a miniature dimpled ball around.

Let's admire the majestic beauty of the manicured, irrigated and chemically treated lawns.

Let's look out as if we're purveyors of some beautiful kingdom that's sprawled out special--just for us.

Let's feel the soft spongy green swallow up our shockingly white sneakers that children made somewhere.

Let's be bold and ironic and wear ridiculously patterned outfits and outrageous hats that don't even match.

Let's buzz around on a golf cart to properly survey our kingdom and surreptitiously swig on alcohol in cans.

Let's listen to the crack of the iron on that little ball to properly feel powerful and sporty and elite and alive.

All I Really Wanna Do

All I would really like to do right now 

is eat an ice cream cone under an umbrella 

in a thunderstorm, but it's not even raining, 

I'm too full from dinner, and you don't like 

going out in public.

A Consumer's Plea

Please --

No more things.

No more gifts.
No more HGTV.
No more food wrapped in packages.
No more appliances.
No more tools.
No more shelves.
No more books
              Or papers
              Or typefaces.

Please let us not mark
our appreciation
with dumb money in a bow.

Please let us not box
our past, piles upon piles,
in dusty attics and basements full of cobwebs.

Please let us not fill
our minds 
with the shit and things of this silly place.