Remember that time you fell?
I hated you then,
Mostly because you cried.

Remember what those summers tasted like?
I sure do.
You probably forget by now.

Remember mom?
You know, before the death?
Me too.

Remember dad?
Back when he had morals?
Me neither.

Remember when I wept at your side?
You were asleep.
With tubes down your throat.

Remember when I was sorry?
I really was.
Hope you noticed.

Static Tendencies

Come on and mean it to me.
In your 30 second television slot.
Cheap poetry.
Sell me something pretty.

Something that shines.
Something that dazzles.
A misty-eyed lady slinks,
barely wearing her plunging dress.

We all nod if it’s something we like.
A new brand from India
or gray cars from overseas
late at night.

Is this who we are now?
Narrators of beer commercials?
Knuckle up to a pint
and sink into oblivion.

Pay for it as fast as you can.
As fast as your mother, father
or significant other will let you.
Then, one week later, render it useless.

Keep buying it because of poor
imitations. Because of second rate
soliloquies. Buy it because the showman
seems to have:

the magic of speak.