The old adage holds
One bad apple
Spoils the bunch
And we are told again and again
That we ought to listen to the wisdom of those who came before
Who know more
Who didn’t grow up with social media
And so they know the score

But when we apply the lessons
We continue to be held to blame
Told that they’re not all the same
That it’s a falsely made lack of fame
And if they had done what they were told to start with
There would never have been a problem

What was that man doing
So
Very
Wrong
That the cop
Should
Have carried around
A shit sandwich–
Diarrhea on rye, maybe
Or mashed corn-studded turds on whole wheat
Because getting roughage matters
And fiber is important to a healthy diet–
And fed it to him when
His trembling outstretched hands pleaded for mercy?

It had to be something
Right?
Because he had to know what he was doing
He had to know there was something done that deserved
Punishment
Without charge or trial

But it was just a joke
Right?
It was just
A boy being a boy
Or some such thing
No harm done
Not really
It’s not like he did it to
Anyone who matters

Clearly.
Because he’s still wearing a badge
Even if it has
Something smeared on it
Just a little, there

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As croaks the one who gave the bullfrog’s name,
I propose words that call for rightful blame,
Though I to righteousness can make no claim.
Yet never does the pot err in the hue
I calls out for the kettle, though it, too,
Is of the color that it names, and who
Is absent fault? Yet failure must be known
If it will be avoided by those prone,
As many are, to it. ‘Tis thus I hone
The edge of tongue and point of quill to chide
The Stupid God, whom all ought to deride,
Yet in whose spreading shadow many hide
And fall into the hole where that God treads,
Emptying their hearts to match their heads.

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Throbbing inside my head, it
Presses against all my perception
I can even smell it
Taste it
Acrid to nose and tongue though
Neither have touched it, and
There is no relief to be found

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I far too often heed the siren call
That rings from in the Stupid God’s large hall
And holds more people in its dulling thrall
Than might be thought. I, too, must take my ease
At times. I must seek out a sweet release
From too much thinking, lest I grow diseased–
I know that such awaits me if I don’t,
Foul thought of which I might write, but I won’t.
I wrestle with so doing, seek to hone
Myself instead of letting myself laze,
But still I find that, on too many days,
I heed the call, it fills my mind with haze,
And I plod dully to that dim delight
Of Stupid God’s, who laughs throughout the night.

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In the next room
Strains of some pop star’s licensed product ringing through the house
As they sing along and
Try to follow the images on the screen with their bodies
And I am trying to be grateful that that is what they do together
When there are so many other things and worse that could be

They do so well together
And I sit at my desk
Pecking away at some small thing
Marveling at a friendship that sprang up suddenly
So easily

It is a blessing for the one
That such things happen for her
Time and again
I have never known how

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I will have time to read again
Turning pages at my pleasure and for it instead of
Racing through reams to write tests I know
I
Know
Strip the joy from where I have found it
For others
For me

I will have time to write again
Pick up a pen and fill out pages
Such as I used to do
And not only short bursts of verse or reading reviews
But things I ought to have been writing long since
That others might want someday to read
Or crapped-out copy for a few coins
(Though I appreciate the pay)

I will be able to be a part of things
As I have not before been
Except on occasion
And those the better days of my life
Now past
But perhaps to be reclaimed again
Or claimed since
They have so seldom been

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The bucket is falling again
Thin rope snapping as it speeds through hands that
Will not grasp it soon, fearing burns
The skin having been torn away before and
The flesh left raw and stinging because
Things must still be done even when
What should be protected is bared to the world

The peril lies in letting too much rope play out
The line following too closely and quickly
And passing swiftly thus past where it can be held
Falling into the water instead of helping to
Bring it back up and
Letting people drink

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