I
Our past, our present, no doubt our future
History, is fire-forged, fiercely honed,
Shaped by the deadly amalgam of two
Knife-like realities: Testosterone
And that stubborn notion of one-true-god.
Season these with the piquant spice of greed–
Presto! All the ingredients you need
To flavor the brewed stew of who we are.
Mix passionate belief, relentless hor-
mones, acquisitiveness—and history—
Triumphs, grim twists, defeats, incessant gore—
Becomes an open book, no mystery.
We kill the infidels; we seize the spoils;
And, best of all, the winners get the girls!
(3/25/07)
II
Bologna, liverwurst, summer sausage—
Have you considered what that stuff contains,
Better yet, examined how wursts pertain
To what we are? “Three T” (don’t ask!) force-
meat stuffs the casings of both food and mind.
Brains, like sausages, plumped with detritus
Heaped at home, at school, at church, at play, fuss-
filled certainties defining all mankind.
Who am I? A six foot two inch hot dog
Who earned parental love by doing well
At school, who got the girl by dancing well,
Pursued respect, became a slogging cog
In academia. And all for what?
Minced ideas, together with dumb luck, got
Me through, provided what I’d need—power
To escape the gaping maws—to flower:
Thwart predators! Become devourer!
(4/1/07)
III
Once I thought I’d like to be a poet,
But understood that was not politic—
And, despite my yearning, once I knew it,
Cowardice forged me: a callow critic.
Wide-eyed, I watched as those blest singers burned,
Churned in time’s hot vortex: addicted, drunk
Insane! I dared not risk my life to earn
A place among the fates. Instead, I sank
To finding fault, extending praise, the sage,
Smug guardian of their great tradition.
I never gave myself permission
To shed constraint, confront, to hurl my rage
At this contagious world. Fraught with desire,
I cowered: no Prometheus; no fire.
(4/12/07)