it couldn’t happen at a worse time

it couldn’t happen at a worse time,
you say, as if it might have been fine
back in 1999, or 2007,
the years they went up to heaven.

all of the things this madman will do
are of much inconvenience for you.
just when you were getting ready to spend
the rest of your life making bland, safe friends
in a bland, safe town, of around a hundred
thousand people or so, with a well-funded
university library and a few independent
bookstores, plus a top-rated brew pub
and a top-rated regional hospital complex
to take care of you when too much grub
finally makes your heart and arteries flex
themselves with one great gasping push,
but such top-rated care always so near
means you’d be deftly and expertly rushed
to a gleaming unit of beeps loud and clear
where you could carefully sit and prepare
whatever sermon, or poem or lecture comes next
without hardly missing a beat or skipping a rhyme,
but now this inconvenient president came at a time
when it doesn’t feel right to be out in the streets
or having to worry about dictators and national ids.

you cry out to God, what should i do
about this madman surely not sent from you?
is this the apocalypse, is this the end?
if so, could you please rapture me, my friend?
to a bland, safe heaven, with partitioned dead
who only think and look and talk like i did
when i was alive and occasionally i ranted
about the state of the world and the president?
i mean, i know it’s not necessarily a club
of only the top-flyers who wrote all the checks
to only the churches with good potluck grub
like sandwiches, pizza, pasta and tex mex,
and folks who whisper politely in voices hushed
about all of their ills and their fears
they left behind on earth after being rushed
up so rudely and unexpectedly to here–
i suppose all of them and i need time to prepare
for the moment when wings are awarded (not hexed–
obviously such wings would mean that flying
will not feel so sweet, not in these streets
where it’s just too hot to go buzzing like bees.)

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