Poem: Consumer

Brianna Swank, Pexels.com

Saturday dancing alone in my dirty kitchen

where mops are not allowed and counter culture clutter rules

Papers, dishes, cups, vases, glimmering rocks, art utensils,

Chef Ramsey would not be proud to see

the scattered Legos in the freezer

the toy, not the frozen waffles.

“What a nightmare!” he’d complain.

Where’s the lamb sauce!” he’d exclaim.

No where here in the land of take out rubble.

Spending full-time money like running water

probably because my parents never did.

They saved everything for the house they owned

no family vacations no Atari no HBO no IZOD

alligator polo shirts that everyone except me

wore in my 5th grade gifted and talented

preppie wannabe class.

My ghastly shirt had an uncool penguin on it from trash cart Kmart.

So now I splurge irresponsibility, indiscriminately spend

on unnecessary take out food via delivery App

lazier than ever, depression will do that

cave in to my lowly cozy apartment for really one not two

with paper thin walls and morning light of crystal rainbows

window sun catchers float brief magic in.

The dingy motel-like hallways here always smell

like French onion soup or spicy curry or bacon

sometimes in unison.

There’s always construction outside

never melodic birds chirping in the suburb

Maples and Oaks and flowering Dogwoods

I miss the East Coast countryside of my childhood.

On my few days off I get no relief

from the endless urban expansion

like constant ants we build our kingdom

metal clergy relentlessly jackhammering,

chainsaws bleeding a tree dead

decapitating it’s trunk and crowned head.

Dinosaur cranes should look like Brontosaurus.

Bridges should look like leaping ancient Blue Whales.

I’d happily live in an expressive world like that

but ours is concrete modern duplicated dreary

rat-a-tat-tat crumble, drilling more unoriginal

continuously repaired, paved black hole asphalt shit

sinking tar roads killing real green leprechaun magical grass

and tiny weeds fairy wildflowers and smiling glowing dandelions.

I detest manicured pristine golf courses

pesticidal Astroturf-like green outdoor carpet.

Golfing is an elitist pastime

I think soon all of Hawaii will soon be converted again

to a Japanese owned golf course

if Trump doesn’t plant a fraud business there instead.

So I buy new drapes to barricade in

buy new natural rugs to buffer the ugly industrial toxic carpet.

I think carpets should not exist

if only I could blink them away forever

use the existing ones to cover cat towers but then no more ever.

I ironically buy aquariums for tranquility then fight with algae.


Bye bye plastic packages of plastic

Never styrofoam!

Let’s illegalize it now

and everything that doesn’t biodegrade naturally.

I hate Amazon while still shopping there.

Zombie consumer part of the problem

worker drone life seeks relief

in comfort food and cozy home

stomach bloating like Marlon Brando and Elvis

WTF is happening to me?

Selling out, giving up the blue collar struggle?

Soon I’ll be driving

obnoxiously polluting

and vacationing in tourist zones

like a bourgeoisie asshole.

But I’m a hermit at heart, “I vant to be alone“.

We all need therapy to uncondition us from

consumerism addiction which benefits the

creeps on top controlling things

selling us their GMO cancer crops

Apple gadgetry distraction props

Yup I signed up, duped again.

Draining us incrementally, precisely, warping us

boiling us like frogs unaware slowly.

We’re just the lonely scavenger prawns

eating imminent failure

walking into doomsday self-ignited.

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