Stop Being Angry About Everything

The boss man made a dollar

And paid it to the state.

The workers wanted their share.

He told them they’re too late.

They said he was a liar

And a lousy bum.

They set his house on fire

And cut off his thumb.

The boss man made a dollar

And paid it to his staff

They say he was arrested

And all his workers laughed.

The boss man made a dollar

And gave half here half there

Now both sides are angry

And pulling out their hair.

The workers want their dollar

And so does the state

And both sides will holler

Pay up and do not wait.

The boss man earns his money

And then he earns some more

And if he didn’t make that money

His workers wouldn’t have a job.

The government wouldn’t have taxes.

The cities would have no revenue

And the regions would be depressed.

And the workers would be angry

That the bosses took their money

And ran off to somewhere else.

Look, simple rhymes don’t cut it,

And neither does simple logic.

Don’t be an idiot. Think things through,

And stop being angry about everything.

That is my job. You can’t have my job.

July Poem 26: That Fucking Monopoly Game

Just my luck. A bank error in my favor.

More money than we could possibly have.

We went out for dinner and drinks before

The groceries and diapers. Wife ignored my

Mention the shorter line. God fucking damn!

Last minute cigarettes. The longest line

In Mississippi. The fucking tobacco line.

The “I ain’t got enough money to feed

My own kids, but I’m sure as hell going

To fill my lungs with tar” line. When the bank

Fucks up, they take back their money on their

Terms. Not yours. But that’s just it. Isn’t it?

Life is that fucking Monopoly game.

You just spend until were all fucking broke.

September Poem 14: Clickbait Addiction

In your billfold. Nestled in the inside

Pocket of a woolen coat. As if there’s

Money changing hands. You would look at your

Daughter as if grapefruit. As if airplane.

As if a commodity to be bought

And sold. As if her Japanese lanterns

In the window lit straight to the street to

Invite all the men who have visited

Over the last month. Over night. Over

A few hours. Over the grunts and smells

Coming from her room. Over the money

That pays for all the in app charges that

You rack up on your cell phone so you can

Feel like a good, responsible parent.

That Fucking Monopoly Game

Just my luck. There was a bank error in my favor. The ATM screen stared back at me through the driver side window. There was no way we had that much money in our account. We had been out to dinner. Then, to the store to get groceries and diapers. And the last minute addition of cigarettes. No wonder she had a fit when I mentioned going through the one short line. We had to go through the longest line in Mississippi. The God damn tobacco line. The “I ain’t got enough money to feed my own kids but I’m sure as hell going to fill my lungs with tar” line.

My wife is here looking over my shoulder from the passenger seat. I know she sees the bank balance. She is gonna go fucking crazy with this money that we don’t really have. Real life is not like that fucking Monopoly game. When the bank fucks up, they take that money back. On their terms and not yours. If you don’t have enough money in your account when they notice, they will put your account in the negative and charge your ass an overdraft fee.

I may guilt her into not spending it before we make it back home, but she’ll be back in town with my bank card just as soon as I get to sleep. Maybe life is like Monopoly. You just keep spending until everybody is fucking bankrupt.