Tattoos in Mayberry

51,324 poems read

I sit here at this last chance balcony cafe
in store bought furniture. in 
subsidized housing they award to
those on borrowed time., 
in the choking haze o sf Diesel,
exhaust by the Interstate.
Still don't I gaze upon the same moon
as you.
My eyes sharing the sky and the stars with you.
Do I not bleed red like you, when I get cut?
Why so important to put distance
between you and me. tooling around
like an Indy race car
fixing their sights to lap me,.
 must you grind my path to dust,
to elevate your mood.
A contest comparing your money to mine.
Diminishing my contribution.
Miniimizing my position
Worsening my condition.
Criticizing all of what I have done.. 
spitting from up in your tower
onto my lower vantage point .
Has your spirit been uplifted by hateful craft .
Build dream houses,
and palatial palaces from upon the wide shoulders
of the human frailty, they call shortcomings...
Aren't we all brethren scavanger hunters,, foraging for 
crumbs left behind..Why so eager to denouce and make sport
of me and my dalliances.. Did we not both
spring forth from the same fertile soil rich with
seed and egg..
Who can be charged with thinking too much
Wouldn't that be  wrong headed,
Don't think too small.
when thinking about the worst
Or go real long
when you're thinking about
how good you have it or
how bad things could get'
if your luck turned.
We're all playing beat the clock
and the clock is winning..
I may be fat and slow,
go to the doctor to
remove from your shoe.
the stone that is you.
Labels give ulcers
Coat your stomach with Teflon.
to deflect the grafitti.
I'm discarding  ill gotten information
Writing to ease my burdens. . 

The burden of lack
of generosity since only way I am going to get a premium
hand rolled Cuban Cigar is if someone else first pre-chews it.
Promises kept only for you.. 
you're mission I guess is to be a heartless
jerk. If you don't know what it's like to 
live poor. To shed your  high and mighty husk
Live in the thickets a silent, naked blade of grass,
the ninth son of a poor rice paddy . farmer.
You can't give back what you never had.
 Survival, requires cooperation,
either you get bitter and die alone and rich.
or you learn, unconditional love,
Compassion and empathy for those suffering...
Not running over them 
winning through attrition.
the powerless and the ignorant.
I wonder how that's working out for you.
I hope you feel heart sick that
Old pro's
  like me, experienced at
going all in on the low hand,
so as to ride out the rough spots. 
can't be as easily throttled
by your acts one or two.

Buddy Bee Anthony

Comment On This Poem --- Vote for this poem
Act One And Two