It’s not immediately clear as to why we should express gratitude for these minuscule things we take for granted every day,
but certain wise people–time and again–have said that inner peace is really just gratitude wrapped up in some nondenominational bunting and tossed over the side of a pontoon while you’re fishing in the middle of Lake Superior in the middle of the longest day of Summer,
where somehow you find one lonesome chunk of ice inexplicably adrift as though it could have been placed there for the purpose of setting up a convenient visual aid for a climate change documentary.
Little Bergamot–that’s what we’re calling our frozen hero du jour–simply minds their own business out there, doing their best not to knock into anybody, when out of the blue someone inconsiderate–such as yourself, perhaps–putzes their way over and just so happens to chuck that bunting, smacking ol’ Bergie right in their weak little slush-filled belly,
sending our hapless pilgrim to re-integrate with its watery cousins
much quicker than otherwise established through melting rates
extolled by scientists the world around as
“the purest definition of why humans shouldn’t underestimate
the contributions made to global ecology
through strict, unbiased observation of this universe around us.”
Or some version of that sanctimonious diatribal crap; Bergie won’t be around to hear it anyway.
As midlevel leisure enthusiasts,
we have always preferred
on only the loveliest of summer days–
is that a stale interpretation?
Because, truth be told,
we could be the bandwagon kind of folk
who only drink iced tea
on the sun porch
in otherwise scorching conditions,
our enclosed little patio-area the only respite
when a cross-breeze comes rolling through.
No, I’m talking
where you could really take it or leave it
(as far as a cool beverage is concerned).
It would even be bordering on the cusp of preferring
a lukewarm or even full-on warm beverage
if we were on the more neutral end of temperature concerns.
That’s not what I’m talking about here.
It’s crucial that you understand
my delicate position on this matter.
It’s usually not long after positing such a polarizing statement that I would be rebuffed with counter arguments stating the absurdity of equating a particular kind of climate/weather condition with the kind of beverage preferred during said time, at which time I would widely rebuke the person/s responsible for the indignation. What kind of boring life must you be leading if you have nothing better to do than debate someone over the importance, nay, relevance, of climate and beverage temperature comparison?!
I tend to get heated over trivial matters.
You got a problem with that?
The biggest, most poignant pen
writes the antithesis of the expected,
the people with lives expressed
experience, embarked upon
out of necessity
to insulate from the severe
of a marginalized people
fucked up our entire species,
ethically and genetically.
Speaking truth is necessary;
we can’t worry about
transcending race or gender,
there is only
a singular consciousness,
lived at all moments of our lives.
We are merely its witnesses.
Thank you for sharing
your visions of truth
and illuminating my perception.
You are my teacher, my ally,
my person of interest.
Don’t we all take for granted
the stag’s leaps or the hyena’s skips
as perpetual representations of a group
that denigrates the works of mankind?
Too many toads take too much time
to throw titillated molotov cocktails
betwixt the orthogenetic felons
of our once-forgotten past,
whistled between a shar-o-ise
and a heart.
The chamber solvent
has a triumphant shield
quite unlike the present-minded
earth warbler, unmade
as a man of science and marked
as a man of knowledge
in the community that really matters–
the one that brings us
to a crater of conscience
that may easily be sustained
if pursued in earnest.
I’m tethered to this
as though I deserve
this form of punishment.
I didn’t even do anything
other than invent
my own form of potato masher.
What’s wrong with innovating
a new design
for starch delivery?
I think this government
has really got to get a grip
on itself and forget the politics
that brought us
to such a politically correct time.
Next thing you know, someone’s
going to be making cracks
about the Great Potato Famine
and drinking pints of Irish whiskey
as they stammer all over the floor,
filibustering for as long
as they can stand upright.
Who even much cares for
rudimentary road maps and hackery
imported from the minds of drudgenous drones?
Refinement falls to the critics, does it?
You put something out and get an issue in return,
to be repeated ad infinitum
for the good of the paying public
and the pauper poet.
perpetrated by years of aching bellies
and glowering doom receptacles
we’ve come to know as the media–
you, Filth, are responsible
for the illiterate cauldronful of bubbling babblers
that belittle each other every chance they get.
The sugar packet parlor gleamed with artificial charm
in the dull summer haze we call liberty.
Somewhere, somehow, someone knows a better way
to portion sugar.
nobody made an effort to explain the intricacies
of our package-centric society,
the landfill-clogging generation
content to leverage children
for bleach bottles.
Doesn’t nature have its own ingenious packaging
already set in motion?
We obtained our paper and plastic
from butchering the landscape and its inhabitants
and dumping their carcasses into vast piles
for our lacking wits.
Give us that speed of transaction courtesy, will ya? We’re valuable customers, and we deserve instant purchases (not to mention fund transfers). Our stable contributions to the economy have earned us the right to complain and demand homage for our courage in spending.