by Rick Young | Jun 18, 2020 | Poem
The Supreme Court doesn’t like my xenophobic attitudes.
I thought I had a quid pro quo when hiring new dudes.
Neil Gorsuch stabbed me in the back because I don’t like gays.
Now Roberts with this DACA hack. It’s been a tough few days.
I thought I had this court wrapped up, no ifs, no ands or buts.
In my next term, I’ll have to find some really right wing nuts.
I still think Jeanine Pirro would bring to the court some class.
She has a voice that leaves no choice but thinking ’bout her ass.
I’d like to find a hanging judge to replace ‘mind-shot’ Ruth,
a smart guy who will listen to me, fuck-all with the truth.
I’d like to find another Kavanaugh, that much is clear,
but one without so many rapes and maybe drinks less beer.
In four more years I’d build a court that contours to my dreams.
They’d be all men. They’d be all friends. They’d be my white Supremes.
by Rick Young | Jun 16, 2020 | Poem
Jesus monkeys on a downhill slide.
Everybody who’s not white had better get inside.
If they’re gonna shoot us just for sleeping in our car,
someone’s got to step up, tell them this has gone too far.
One man just got choked to death for selling cigarettes.
Another lasted nine minutes, but couldn’t hold his breath.
And now they’re finding young black men are hanging from the trees.
Enough to make communities say stop this killing, please.
Systematic racism is born into white blood.
Those who try to deny this are washing sand with mud.
Kidnapped to a foreign land, enslaved four hundred years,
it’s no wonder we’ve projected on them our worst fears.
Someone keeps my family down for all those centuries
had best respect my anger now. C’mon now, white man, please.
There’s got to be a working out for us to heal the nation.
With twenty-twenty hindsight we must think of reparation.
Protestors in the streets call out to anyone who cares.
This country, like a chess match, moves on different color squares.
by Rick Young | Jun 15, 2020 | List
There’s just no reason not to drink these days.
It makes things better in so many ways.
The pandemic doesn’t seem so bad
depending on the drinks you’ve had.
This is not to say whiskey’s a healer,
just that you may be soothed by tequila.
Bloody Mary tends to make the nightly news less scary.
Rum and coke turns anything White House into a joke.
Five straight shots of gin might make you think Republican.
And now with all the killings of black men by bad white cops,
some may find the pain is eased by drinking of the schnapps.
There’s little now to cheer, but some solace in good beer.
Some sturdy stout can black things out to be sorted tomorrow.
With things this bad, it’s mad, it’s sad, but alcohol dulls sorrow.
by Rick Young | Jun 14, 2020 | Poem
Happy Birthday to you, from the people you slew,
from the generals exploded to ER’s overloaded.
Your ignorance viral threatened all our survival.
You should have gone home when impeached.
But now, like a whale bleached and beached,
you’re thrashing in seas swirled with peoples’ unease.
Your every solution seems instead dissolution,
your every conclusion inept. No promise kept,
You watched as folks wept. Hate abides.
You said there was good on both sides.
You love your rebel lore. We know not quite what for.
With blacks out of sorts, you won’t re-name forts,
you really don’t think black lives matter.
You show by your lies there are folks you despise.
It’s all mixed inside your daft patter.
Despite your mistakes, we’re mailing you cakes,
a nice gesture until you find
they’re all of the urinal kind.
by Rick Young | Jun 14, 2020 | Story
Just saw an ad for “grunt style” clothes.
They’ll push the army up our nose.
It’s bad enough troops in our streets,
and they’re not there for meet-and-greets,
but now we have to wear their duds,
and flounce around like Elmer Fudds?
There’s little charm in army fashions,
’bout as tasty as C-rations.
Olive green and basic black,
fresh off Uncle Sam’s clothes rack.
“Oh, Sarge, you look so fine to me.
What is that look called, infantry ?”
We know that rugged men like camo.
Gives them pockets for their ammo.
In certain states, accessories,
like M-15’s are bound to please.
But here comes a fashion warnin’,
can’t tell civvies from the sworn-in.
Countries become very scary
when they turn all military.
People, please consider class.
And shove that “grunt style” up their ass.
