Jive Patrol
Spring Straining
Older does mean slower,
with very few exceptions.
The average drops,
there’s more bad hops,
your eyes don’t pass inspections.
Corrections only last so long.
They seem to have your number.
Your contract’s running out this year
and you can’t swing the lumber.
The young guys doing laps
pass by like in a mascot race.
You shave each day now
just to hide grey stubble on your face.
You cringe to see the lineup card.
Once more, your name’s not there.
You’d happily sign autographs,
but kids don’t seem to care.
At last the roster is announced
to whoops and several cusses.
Perhaps a trade can still be made.
Or you’ll be riding buses.
Hump of Destiny
Malapropic Oversight
Zen parasites amass
in subtle grandeur.
Invincible, inviolate
and destitute.
Imagination spawns
balloons of oversight.
The helix doubles back
along its route.
We are helpless.
Help us, Mister Everything!
Put our feet
upon the path secure.
Malapropic oversight
means nothing’s right.
And life goes by,
unrecognized, a blur.
Reconciliation Beads
We probed inherent violence,
proposed opposing force.
Our findings met with silence,
society’s recourse.
Now we’re a country station
and you’re our demographic.
We’ll tail you through the nation,
through hell and heavy traffic.
We’ll sell you on our prayers, our hymns,
religion and salvation,
persuade you other paths are whims
or back roads to damnation.
We’ll offer you the keys to dreams,
to everything you need.
We lost you once before it seems,
but now we’re up to speed.