Published July 8, 2010
The television plays its evil tricks.
You’d think (unknowing) that machines could dance,
Technology could write a perfect stanza,
Or pharmacy could help you with the chicks.
I, for one, am certain when I perish
I’d want to take with me every advantage.
I’d want the silk, the feathers, and the Zantax
To flaunt to angels seeking out the fairest.
I’d want to drive a fancy coupe to judgment
To demonstrate the feats I have surpassed—
That I escaped the famine and the fast,
And self-invested funds I could have lent.
Believe you me, I’d prep the sky for style.
And pave the way for misty clouds beguiled.
another basketcase arrived for drinks.
we all knew where the bounty kept its tricks,
a summer day, the blues and all its licks
removed the crazy feeling of the jinx.
and just out there (we gazed to skyways light)
persnickety diners moaning over flesh,
infuriated frequent flyer mess,
but us? Who cares! We lulled, we soared like kites.
the festive sun, the speakers on the doors,
your clever jokes of busting up the graves,
the windows to the alley with the strays,
and Viktor’s motored hands on all the chords.
but what’s the likelihood of making money
with open-ended, brilliant guitar strumming?
 While traipsing through the county fair in June,
      I noticed that the doomsday queue was empty
         All shouts, all shrieks, all laughter came a’plenty
            From other rides designed to raise the mood.
                Now be reminded, doomsday’s just a game-
                    A haunted house, a carnival of smoke
                        Accepting even those without a token
                            To grab a glimpse of recklessness in vain.
                                To those that come with spectacles for doom
                                    Entice the youngsters with a sense of awe
                                       Implore that they remember what they saw
                                           That summer when the fair arrived in June.
                                                For all the shrieks and screaming and delight,
                                                   There may be more to this than human might.
I have friends who take a pill for sleeping,
Friends who take another one for eating,
Peers who take a yellow one for cheating
And neighbors who put some aside for keeping.
I think the frenzy comes from market forces
Equipped to sneak the information on,
Intent to force the symptoms in a song,
And pack away what profit they can horde.
They guide the folks to yearn to fly with larks,
They wonder if you tend to sneeze at dust,
They ask if inhibitions quell your lust
And warn how symptoms network in the dark.
So here we are, the land of little pills,
For there is no excuse for conquered wills.
Our greatest feat was flying to the moon-
Imagine aspirations, outer-space,
The implications for the human race
To go appraise the dark spots of the moon!
With fire blasts, with engineers we rose
Above the rain, above the greenhouse gas,
Beyond the exultation of the Mass
To see what type of magic there might grow.
And later off to Mars and other worlds
To seek suspected living, breathing hearts
In hopes of finding something we have lost
By daring looking elsewhere for a Lord.
And here assembly lines tear up the beasts
That we indulge in stellar daily feasts.
Something went awry in advertising,
When silly minds of greed took up the reigns
To force the gamut of contentment feigned
And fill the markets with disease for buying.
Not something deemed a necessary wine,
No fire of glory, nor patient, lending beast,
No vaccination, wells to find the streams,
But carnal tricks designed to fad with time.
They think if they can only change your focus-
From brilliant skies, from generations old
To superhuman emblems of control
That then the spell will set itself to hopeless.
From there the corporations sell their shit
And sell (at high-jacked prices) catching mitts!

Poem Copyright © Jennifer Sowinski