A Birthday Poem For My Dog Bo

Little monster grown big monster,

a tap put on a slobber keg.

Soft mouthed furry rhino

running for the door.

Chewing, always chewing.

All the things a man can say

to his best friend.

Paul Ryan's Foot Conundrum

Congressman Paul Ryan suffered a major medical emergency this Saturday. During a speech on the merits of effectively abolishing Medicare he tripped off his podium. A doctor rushed to the stage to find his own foot jammed down the congressman's throat. Naturally the Doctor wanted to remove it. But Ryan insisted on not taking advantage of subsidized healthcare. And he was far too cheap to pay from his own pocket. Thus the foot remains. Ryan continued speaking in a muffled voice over the great innovations states might make as they were forced to take on a greater burden of debt by providing health care costs without a federal government."Seniors" he said "will have more choice: their house, food, medications or... hip surgery."

See Me at the Palace!

 
Have a gig reading my Christina Green piece Thursday, June 2, 7:30 p.m. at the Marion Palace theatre. Hope you all can make it!

Sincerely,

Blog Master Ben

Bonnie Black Flag

Need a Bonnie to my Clyde

A mad bitch gunner rebel,

Lover and a basketcase

Who rides with me and Tommy

Through a bullet hell that we call heaven,

Facing down the cops and world

In Freedom’s Name –

It was never just about the money honey –

Until that day The Man’s one step ahead

Forcing us to choose give in or die:

Naturally, we choose to die.

Jeffrey's Saga

Jeffrey casually flicked the stone wall of the McDaniel’s building.  He wasn’t sure why he had done it.  It just seemed the thing to do.  After, as his finger smarted from the pain it seemed the opposite.  He feared his nail had broken off completely.  A large piece of finger nail had indeed fallen to the ground.  Remarkably it seemed unbloodied.

Forcing himself to look Jeffrey held his hand out in front of his eyes.  Strangely nothing.  His nail had not flaked off, yet there it lied broken on the ground.  Perhaps he had developed super healing powers like Wolverine?  No, that was foolish.  It was more likely a genetically mutated spider of some kind that bit him.  But where would it come from?  Jeffrey didn’t know of any major Science laboratories in the area.

His finger was still red.  How long did superheroes take to heal? Jeffrey decided he would make the most of it.  Approaching another portion of the wall he opted to try more than flicking.  Balling his fist he hit the stone at full force.

Predictably he broke a great deal of bone.  Even more predictably from a scientific perspective nothing healed any faster than normal.  Fingernails however came off again; much more than for which Jeffrey had fingers.  This alarmed him.  What if his super power was not regeneration but simply producing an abnormal abundance of new fingernails?  He’d be the laughing stock of the comic book world.

Who would Jeffrey go to with his problem?  The major hospitals could inform the military.  They would surely study him, possibly, God forbid… dissect!

Things were moving too fast.  Jeffrey just wanted his life back; the life before his mutant fingernails took over!  His family would have to understand why he couldn’t go home.  Jeffrey couldn’t put them in danger.  The criminal underground would surely be after him in no time and use any leverage they could get their hands on.  The military, the criminals… they would all take their shots.  Who knew what horrible things his flaky nails might do in the wrong hands!

Jeffrey noticed a ring amongst the flakes.  Maybe if he slid it on the curse would be lifted.  He thought too soon; a finger was in it.

“Gross” he thought.  But in the interest of saving the world from the evil forces soon to mass upon him, Jeffrey picked up the severed finger.  He tried to shake it off the ring, but it was budged.  Stomping up and down was the next logical step.

Jeffrey never got the chance.  A black van pulled up as he placed the severed finger underneath his boot.  Two goons emerged and promptly grabbed him.  He tried to cut them with his nail shedding but the powers must not have worked under stress.  Poor Jeffrey; blindfolded, tied up and taken away defenseless.

He awoke hours later in a sort of interrogation room with a long table and chairs.  It was largely a letdown for Jeff, who had been expecting more of an evil laboratory motif.

Two men in business suits entered and sat across from him.

“Okay, this has gone far enough,” Jeffrey started, “You kidnap me, bring me in this disappointing room with no beakers and you’re wearing suits…SUITS!  You don’t have the common decency to dawn lab coats!?”

“We are sorry Mr. Jeffrey, we truly are,” said the man on the left.

“Now, you apologize!”

“It is the polite thing to do before you kill someone,” said the man to the right.

“That’s more like it,” Jeffrey said, reclining.  “How are you going to do it?  Vaporize me?  Turn me Cyberman?”

“No, nothing like that,” alternated the man on the left “you have been watching far too much science fiction.”

“How are you going to do it then?”

“We’re going to grind you into meat and make a human brick out of you.  Then we’ll take that brick and put it on a building.”

“But – but, why?”

“They always ask why, Pete.  They always ask why.”

“It’s okay, George, I’ll take this one.  We’ve been making buildings out of human bricks for some time now.  You could say it’s because quarrying is labor intensive and a lot of hassle.  You could say it’s a good way to rid ourselves of undesirable elements in society.”

“Which would you say?”

“Oh, I’d go with the labor intensive hassle.”

“You would.  Never the more interesting option with you type.”

“No, it too often isn’t.  Which leaves us the issue of what to do with you.”

“I didn’t see anything," said Jeffrey beginning to fear for his life, "this was all a dream!”

“We’d like to believe you can stick by that story.  But the truth is you’ve had your share of run ins with the law.”

“So it is the second option!”

“No, no, still more the first.  We wouldn’t do this if it cost us more.  Or at least, we’d enjoy it less.”

“Honestly, I didn’t see a finger fall out of the wall!”

“Then how would you know about it just then?  Your story is already falling apart!”

“I know.”

“Think of it as getting your name on a sidewalk.  You will be immortalized… forever.  Now if you’d just shave yourself we can get started.”

“Shave myself?”

“Of course.  We can’t have hair gopping up the works.”

“But why do I have to do it?”

“Courtesy.”

“You’re grinding me into a brick and you want my courtesy?”

“I don’t see why not.”

“All right, at least I’ll be gentler on my own.”

“That’s the spirit.  We’ll get you some scissors and you can get started.”

“Oh, come on, at least spring for a Schick!”

“Fine, if you're gonna be all cry baby about it...”

Pete motioned and five minutes later an assistant returned with a Schick Quattro and shaving cream.

“Happy?”

“No.”

“We did the best we could then.  It was a pleasure meeting you Jeffrey.  Come on, George, let’s go find our next subject.”

They left, closing the door behind them.  Jeffrey took as much time as he could shaving.  He was certainly in no hurry.  But the more time he had to consider his fate the more it brought him to worry.  He had half an arm left to go before he put the razor down.

“Shaving complete” a computerized voice spoke over an intercom.

“This is it,” said Jeffrey to himself.  He closed his eyes, just catching the beginnings of a large saw blade emerging from the ceiling.  Hearing it was terrible enough.  In truth, he hardly felt it.  His skull was sliced in such a way to leave him long dead before much pain could be inflicted.

Jeffrey joined the countless others on the wall that week.  He was processed and identical; a martyr to the joint goals of profit and control.  But, no one passing by would dare to guess.  They merely overlooked the souls of those less fortunate until the day that they too were sacrificed and made a part of something sinister.

Emily

Emily was gold –

A statue standing on a shelf

Near old books and DVDs,

Her owner’s PhD.

Emily was gold –

Admired in her glass

But never touched in such a way

That polish can’t remove.

Emily was gold –

A trophy wife

Of pure affection

And no love.

Emily was gold –

A hollow shell that needed more

Than what she had between

The Scarlet Letter, Moby Dick.

Emily was gold –

Valued, out of reach,

Mined, precious and…

Dissolved in cyanide.

The Ron Paul Experiment

Ron Paul was taken from his home one night.  A team of psychologists shot him with a tranquilizer as if he were a rhino and proceeded to tie him up.  After sleep deprivation and forty-eight hours of water boarding the experiment was ready to begin.  Paul, being a strict libertarian believes there is no role for government in capitalist society.  Prostitution, drugs, etc. should therefore be legal and the thousands of painstaking years spent perfecting human culture should be done away with in favor of individual liberty.  Thus, to test his theory once and for all the wise scientists dropped Mr. Paul into the middle of the Amazon rainforest.  This is an account of what transpired.

At first it seemed as if Ron Paul was at home.  He had no government to restrain him whatsoever.  Naturally, he took advantage of the situation by humping small animals.  But he quickly grew weary as they did not reciprocate his affection.  His next order of business was in of itself business.  Paul started a for profit, free market hospital from sticks and leaves he collected.  The rates, however, were far too high.  They wanted 500 acorns for one checkup!  Thus Paul built an insurance company out of more sticks and leaves.  But they too desired an exorbitant amount of acorns, this time per month.  And, after Ron’s visit to the doctor, who was a gorilla, the rates skyrocketed even higher!  It seemed there weren’t enough acorns in the entire forest, no less the empty spot in a trunk he kept his savings.  At any measure, Paul was forced to drop coverage. The next occasion something went wrong Ron simply walked into the emergency room, located underneath a low hanging branch.  The parrotmedics, were forced to take him in and his condition cost more than it would have if treated earlier.  Thankfully, however the expenses were passed to the other creatures of the forest, paying their bills.

At long last cured, Ron realized he needed shelter.  The only problem was the sticks remaining were of poor quality.  He needed to purchase more.  And he needed a contractor.  His previous works, the hospital and insurance company had already been knocked over by a slight breeze.  How would Mr. Paul afford to buy all he needed?  The lemurs in charge of mortgages refused to provide loans with affordable interest.  If only he set up an agency provided by the Amazon’s inhabitants to drive the price down.  “I’ve got it” he said “I’ll call it Eddie Mac.”  Paul thus acquired his mortgage and attained shelter with no government help whatsoever.  But, now with property he needed means to protect it from lions and others.  His stash of acorns was insufficient for the necessary purchases.  Paul, seeing this turned to the Amazon’s critters again who chipped in enough to provide proper fortifications.  But a new problem arose.  Who would run this security as well as Eddie Mac?  Specialized workers were needed: that required salary.  Once again the collective hat, that was actually an enormous banana leaf, was passed around.

A day came, however when Ron Paul was tired of collecting food and working for his luxuries – including but not limited to the payment of acorns to landlord Johnny Bullfrog.  How would Paul survive without working?  He had no family in the Amazon.  Would he simply drop dead?  He hadn’t minded so much when the owls got old and did, but this was him.  By the time specialized workers were collecting taxes.  Ron motioned for them to simply extract more since he was now making less.  It worked beautifully.  After a month, the experiment was over and Paul removed from the Amazon rainforest.  He then promptly returned to Congress and voted to end food stamps and Medicare.

Ugly Fate

I saw a name –

Not even a face –

Yet stood against

The flood of pain that

Always crashes unexpectedly.

I was young

Why does it linger?

It should rub off,

The thing she said.

But it won’t, it can’t.

That she’d never love me

Seemed so fatalistic and eternal

In its composition. Perhaps no one

Ever could. And she, slender,

Tight-jeaned in her midriff top,

Became my redheaded oracle

On the day, years later when I lost my faith.

Final Thoughts

As unlikely as the rapture is at 6 p.m. I would like to say a few words.  What is the rapture?  Is it truly the end of all things?  Or is it symbolic; a reminder to live every day as faithful, as loving  and most generous as the next?  I think the real message is not a vengeful God but one of love.  A God that sees the endless suffering on Earth and makes a stand to end it: once and for all.  In doing so God brings realization that he was never to be feared, but loved.  God never hated one group over another.  He or She never judged by sex, creed or orientation.  God loved all man and womankind equally.  Even those who lived in ignorance, professing the inferiority of others, would be forgiven as they see the light.  That is the strength of God’s love; a strength that we should not forget as soothsayers will go on predicting the next end of days.

A Sonnet for Bert Lahr

Your love for Mercedes was complex,

But you had endless courage on your side

To overcome her pain, mental affects

And seek another one to lie beside.

Her, your Mildred, grew impatient waiting,

Causing you to lose two different mates,

As she married, reduced your heart to skating

On thin ice, pounding on its ribcage gate.

But, as all great love stories will tell us

You won her back despite demanding work

And travel that you needed for success

In the dust and grime, show business murk.

Though your record doesn’t show a scion –

You were never man, you were a lion.

Trumpet Coat

My coat began to smell.  To be fair it had for some time.  I hadn’t washed it in God knows how long.  The rain pouring down in sheets wasn’t doing it any favors.

I walked to class and thought over just ditching the old rag.  But it was cold.  An acrid smell was still preferable to hypothermia.  I began playing a game to distract myself.  What did the scent remind me of?  I knew I had smelled something similar before.

My trumpet… from the Middle School band!  Somehow it smelled exactly like that mix of brass and key oil.  My mind drifted and I remembered different concerts.  I was never very good and one time had forgotten my sheet music entirely.  I was forced to play by memory, making up a great deal of it.  No one noticed.  Luckily.

I woke up from daydreaming to see my coat sleeve changed.  The slick red of the windbreaker now had roundish pegs grown on it.  They were keys!  What was happening?  My arms were turning brass.  The zipper was a mouthpiece.  Sleeves valve casings.  A bell had grown out from my coat collar!  I couldn’t see as rainwater was collecting.  It seemed very likely I would drown.

I felt myself picked up.  Water drained as some enormous figure blew air into what was formerly my zipper.  The sound was excruciatingly loud.

I tried to cover up my ears but my fingers were now valve pistons.  They wouldn’t fit inside the bell encompassing my head.  The musician frequently restrained me.  My legs, now tubes, were forced into position.  I couldn’t move.  A cup mute covered up my only source of air.  I gasped as it went on and off repeatedly.

Being fondled, blown, harassed lasted a good hour.  Then, I was disassembled.  My mouthpiece was taken off and I was shoved into a box.  It felt like a coffin.  And perhaps… it was.

A Sonnet for Jack Haley

A Clanking Clattering Collection of

Caliginous Junk devoid of a heart,

That proved his self more capable of love

Than those who never suffered, ripped apart.

The vaudeville song and dance comedian

Possessing both the gruff and gentle voice

To get his way, while read to children,

As fans from generations still rejoice.

Replacing Ebson with an eye infection

He tin soldiered on, not turning back

Working past a silver, cursed complexion,

Acting ‘til the day he had a heart attack.

His testimonial is still clickin'

Within the cased heart forever tickin'

A Sonnet for Ray Bolger

Limbered vaudevillian dancing Broadway

Down its yellow bricked road to film and fame;

Stopping to get strung up, stuffed with hay,

Discovers that he always had a brain.

Pacific USO, Stage Door Canteen

Babes in Toyland, the Ray Bolger Show

Unrivaled master of the stage and screen

Has Emmy nomination, Tony’s owned.

Narrates That’s Dancing! with Judy’s daughter

Sings I’m a Pepper in a Doctor Pepper ad;

Comes down with, dies from bladder cancer,

Goes up to heaven in his straw suit clad.

Rejoins Dorothy, Tin man, friends from Oz

To abundant and prolonged applause.

A Sonnet for Judy Garland

You were gorgeous but they didn’t realize

As they made you up to be like others,

If they only had looked into your eyes

Past the girl next door and to the mother.

You, their ugly duckling, little hunchback

Became film history for them but not

Because of them; their whips could only crack,

And break the skin.  Your wounds from this would clot.

But scars of insecurity remained

The memory of caps to cover teeth,

Breasts bound up with tape, your curves contained

Denial of the woman grown beneath.

Addictions formed to bare the acting blitz

Self-overdosage of barbiturates.

Trippy True Story Time

 In 1994 Billy went on a photo safari trip in South Africa. According to the book Rhino Tough inspiration struck when Billy zoomed his camera in on a rhino.

"'It's a natural!' he told his wife 'He's tough, sturdy, and looks like a tank.' And the propane flame he said would make a perfect rhino horn." Adding the color blue the color of a propane flame brought it all together.

Cindy

Cindy hit me.  A little too hard to be playful I thought.  But that’s love, what can I say?  We were walking down a path we’d walked a hundred times before.  Cindy was texting on her cell phone as I massaged my arm.  She eventually looked up and hit me in the same spot.  But, this time at least, she kissed me after.

           

We continued past the same old trees, uneventfully.  Their leaves blew in a predictable motion.  The sun was shining, though partly cloudy.  Cindy’s hand slipped from mine and she stood still.

           

“Does it look different,” she asked, pocketing her phone.

“What do you mean?”

           

“The trees, the sky?

           

“Maybe a storm’s coming.”

           

“No, it’s not quite stormy.  Everything’s just darker.”

           

At this point I thought Cindy was messing with me.  It might have been overcast but I couldn’t see how anything was darker.

           

“Cindy, what are you getting at?”

           

“Never mind, let’s just keep going.”

           

But we didn’t.  Cindy continued to pause every few minutes or so.

           

“Cindy, come on, is something bothering you?”

           

“It’s just… darker.”

           

“Okay, you win.  We’ll turn back.”

           

“No, I want to see.”

           

“See what?”

           

“What’s ahead.”

           

“Cindy, I’m not playing this game.  Just tell me what you want.”

           

“I want… to keep walking.”

           

“And see what’s ahead?”

           

“Yes.”

           

“Okay, if it’s that important to you.”

           

We kept walking.  To see what was ahead.  But nothing was.  The path was exactly the same, down to the last flower.

           

“Over there,” said Cindy pointing.  She took off into the trees and I followed.  It was reckless and we stood a great chance of getting lost.  “What a great way to ruin a walk,” I thought as limbs jabbed my feet through flip flops.

           

“Cindy, where are you –“ I didn’t finish.  A large mansion was directly in front of us.  It was classical and rustic with gargoyles on turrets.  I was sure it couldn’t exist.  If such an immensely rich family had lived around my neighborhood you’d think I’d remember hearing about them?

           

Apparently my girlfriend was abundantly familiar with the landscape.  She opened the gate, strangely unlocked, and proceeded to spin inside the grounds, her limbs extending in a dance-like manner.  I peered awestruck, still contemplating the possibility of an elaborate prank.

           

After five or ten minutes, however, Cindy paused as she had along the path.  Her arms extended toward the sky.  The air, the ground, the mansion’s stone all became darker.

           

I understood what Cindy had seen.

           

A blackish mist or fog began materializing.  It covered the grounds inside the gate.  Cindy did not move.  She didn’t look surprised.  In fact, her eyes were closed.  I wanted to scream but found myself silent.

           

Hands wisped into formation.  They touched Cindy, if it could be called touching.  Did she feel the vapor sifting through her?  She had to.  Why didn’t she show it?

           

Arms, shoulders rose, with heads to meet her still closed eyes.

           

I broke free and ran inside.  But I was lost.  Every turn I took, as fast as I ran I could never reach Cindy though I saw her.  The hands had become full figures with whitish masks that bore no features.

           

“Cindy!  Wake up!” I yelled at the top of my lungs.

           

The words were absorbed.  I barely felt them leave my lips.  But I was closer.  She had to be less than seven feet from me.

           

My arm stretched an impossible distance.  I touched Cindy’s shoulder.  But it wasn’t flesh.  My hand went straight through and I grasped nothing.  Her eyes opened.  She gave me one last look.  And then… they took her.

           

A white mask consumed Cindy’s face.  She began sinking, like the others, back into the ground.  I could yell once more.  And I did.  But it did little good.  Flailing my limbs to stop them was like fighting air.  They weren’t human.  Neither was Cindy.  But I, with my heart racing and tears streaming down my cheeks was still most certainly.

           

In a moment it was dusk.  No signs of mist or anything out of place were apparent except for Cindy’s absence.  How would I tell her family?  They’d certainly blame me.  Maybe they’d be right too.  I couldn’t save her as much as I tried.

           

*****

I wasn’t put in jail but everyone still blamed me for what happened to Cindy.  It was understandable as I never gave any consistent explanation.  Could I really tell them what I saw?  Of course not.  I needed to be free, and not locked up in a psychiatric ward.  It was the only way I could keep searching for Cindy.

           

Everyday I went back to the path, quite often followed.  Most had it in their head I desired to move a body or destroy evidence.

           

The mansion never materialized.  I did everything in my power to make it, however.  I outstretched my arms.  I closed my eyes.  Yet, it did nothing.  That day was something; something I couldn’t recreate.

           

For four years I carried on like this; going off the woods into the trees every day, before I realized I had to move on.  It was painful but I had to accept.

           

Around the same time I met Judy.  She was beautiful, intelligent and understood me in a way I thought only Cindy could.  Most of all Judy didn’t blame me for what happened in the woods that day.

           

We dated for a year and half before I proposed.  I had an airplane write the question in the air and she said yes.  It was a wonderful chapter in my life.  The honeymoon, our first child, his first words and steps…

           

But, unfortunately it couldn’t last forever.  Toby moved away, went off to college.  And that Spring Judy was diagnosed with breast cancer.  They gave her six months.

           

“Judy, what will I do?” I asked, not expecting an answer by her bed one day.

           

“You’ll go and find someone else.  And you’ll be happy.”

           

“There is no one else.”

           

“Find… Cindy,” she said surprising me.

           

“What?”

           

“Cindy,” she began “I know you lost her but I want you to find her again.  Please, do it for me.”

           

Those were the last words Judy spoke.  I sat in the dark, as it was early in the morning then, thinking.  What did Judy mean?  It was impossible.  She knew it as well as I did.  But, I wouldn’t let her down as I did Cindy.  I wiped the tears from my eyes and kissed Judy one last time.

           

The air felt the same outside as it had all those years ago.  I took it as an omen as I got in my car and drove toward the old path.

           

There, just into the trees, the mansion stood once more.  The gate opened, unlocked and I approached the front door.  It opened of its own accord to a large reception hall.  It was dank and unclean but I continued on.  Something was glowing in the distance.

           

Many, almost endless doors passed by.  I knew none of them were right.

           

It might have been hours before I reached the end.  The door there glowed as I had expected one would.

           

Inside were the figures that had taken Cindy.  None noticed as I entered.  They stared at something imperceptible ahead of them.  It was my hope it would distract them as I looked for Cindy.

           

It took only a short while.  I knew her size.  She was much shorter than the others.  I approached slowly, tapping her shoulder.

           

“Cindy, it’s me, I’ve come back for you.”

           

A voice spoke.  It was most definitely Cindy’s but it didn’t come from Cindy.

“I knew you’d come back.”

           

“Yes, now, let’s go!”

           

“I’m afraid I can’t do that.  I’m happy here.”

           

“How can you be happy!?  Look at these monsters!  They took you from me, from your family!  Do you have any idea how long it’s been!?”

           

“Patience, there is no need to shout.  We are all happy and better for being here.”

           

The voice continued speaking from around me.  What they were worshipping in front became clear.  Cindy’s body was just that, a body.

           

On a pedestal in front a purple form flitted, shining eerie phosphorescence over the assembled crowd.  Its face bore no mask.  Features were discernible.  It was… Cindy.  And they worshipped her.

           

I got onto my knees almost subconsciously.  I didn’t notice as a cloak was fitted over me and a mask placed on my face.  I was one of them and I was happy.

Because

A cop was shot on Smiley Road

They found his killer with a sneer.

When asked why he shot on Smiley Road

The killer frowned and said: because.

The next day he was electrocuted

His legacy became one word:  because.

And that one word became a metaphor,

That metaphor dark irony.

A man committed suicide

Months later there on Smiley Road.

Before he blew brains out,

His last word was predictable: because.

Forked Morality

Forked morality

Headed underneath a bypass

Dodging cars at night

With the headlights off,

A banana in its tailpipe.

Forked morality

Before ROAD CLOSED –

Two paths, both leading off a cliff.

Forked morality,

Yield signs, stop lights

Bent and twisted

From a hit and run.

Forked morality

A mountain road

Of avalanches,

Skittish brakes.

Phantoms

Sometimes I hear noises

that aren’t there.

Phantoms.

An alarm clock buzzing

at a time not set.

Phantoms.

Voices in the wind

calling out my name.

Phantoms.

Scratches, movements from the dark

belonging to no form.

Phantoms.

Specters, objects, not fast enough

to dodge peripherals.

Phantoms.

Cookie Poem (For the kids)

Should I eat this cookie that fell on the floor?

It doesn’t seem dirty there by the door.

I might eat this cookie that fell on the floor

Why, it hasn’t been dropped for a second or more!

Do you want half of the cookie I dropped on the floor?

Just this morning, it was fresh from the store.

Oh, sweet cookie I can't eat off the floor

Your chocolate chips I’ll miss forevermore.

The Saddest Thing

A child sold 3,000 drawings

In hopes he’d pay for cancer treatment.

And that’s the saddest thing I’ve ever heard.

A woman was refused her chemo therapy

For having no insurance.

And that’s the saddest thing I’ve ever heard.

A man died sickly and afraid

Of bankrupting his family

So he never saw a doctor.

And that’s the saddest thing I’ve ever heard.

People die everyday

That never should, while others live

Get rich off greed.

And that’s the saddest thing I’ve ever heard.

Black Barbie

Black Barbie

Posed like black Jesus

In a black walled room.

Curly black locks,

A short black skirt,

And black high heels.

Solemn, still, black plastic

Headed for a black redemption

On the black oak table.

She’s bearing a black cross

Of isolation, black exclusion

From black paint.