Unemployment Rate Hits 100%

No one is quite sure how it happened.  It may have been the result of a double dip recession turned depression; it may have been banks continuing to invest heavily in Europe.  Either way, it appears one-hundred percent of Americans are now unemployed.  The super-rich are even out of jobs, as nearly every company has failed or is in the process of bankruptcy.  Farmers have stopped harvesting; government employees have been suspended indefinitely.  Even this reporter is freelancing this story, hoping desperately for buyers in a hopeless market.  Basic utilities across the board have become imperiled as well.  Power and water facilities have no one to run them, and no money to operate.  Stores long since looted, city-dwellers are taking to growing their own food from seeds in the parking lots and abandoned buildings most have holed up in.  The President of the United States, long the last individual receiving a salary, recently resigned as his cabinet had months before.  He is now currently residing in a dumpster outside the Capitol Building.  His cardboard sign says THE END IS NEAR.  And he may just be right.

Pepto-Bismol

Over the course of the week I've gotten several Facebook ads from Pepto-Bismol mentioning by birthday  These are just a few:

"You have a birthday coming up. And no one knows better than Pepto how things can get out of hand."

"Hey, you don't have to have Pepto handy at your birthday gala. You also don't have to have snacks. Or drinks. Or fun."

"Happy birthday. If you had a Like button we'd Like you. But you don't. So instead, a friendly reminder: if you overdo it, Pepto's got you covered."

Happy Birthday to Me

My birthday's in about an hour. I could be celebrating but I wrote this poem instead:

*****

I feel my head aching

and I see gray hairs;

brain matter seeps

through roots and

takes away my color.

I was once bright red

but now am faded to

the contrast of the wind.

When did I become a

wispy cloud of storms

with no mobility that I control?

The earth pulls me along,

shaping me to forms

those below can only guess.

I could be bitter but I’m tasteless

and your tongue is numb.

Pebbles in the Lake

This poem is featured in Ben Ditmars' chapbook of poetry, Night Poems. Available on Amazon for Kindle and Print.


Pebbles in the lake are

Children of boulders

Sinking to the sand and

Seeing hazy sunlight

Through the surface.

Segmented beams

Become a glow at night

For those embedded,

Unable to escape.

We dream in stasis

As the fish swim by

And divers brush their hands;

Bring warmth in long,

Forgotten crevices.

An Open Letter to Ben Ditmars from Death

Hey, I bet you think I'm losing my touch?  No chance!  I've killed two-hundred kittens in the last hour.  Thank Satan for Red Bull!  I don't give up, I don't take no prisoners!  Okay, okay, if I have something really important to do I might take a few.  You know like when a rerun of Seinfeld happens to be on.  I just love that Kramer guy.  Hey, he wasn't racist then!  He wasn't dammit!  Don't tell me what to like!  The point is, you made me look like a chump Ben.  People are going to start jumping off buildings for fun now, just to mock me.  What!?  They already do?  There's no way that's a sport!  I suppose they leap out of airplanes too for the thrill of it?  Mother-fuckers!  I've obviously got a lot of fear left to strike into the hearts of the human population.  Oh, wait.  Fox News has me covered.  Their viewers fear me ALL the time; from immigrants, leftists and all sorts of dark-skinned people.  Honestly they don't even have to be a race apart from whites; they just need to spend an hour at a tanning bed and Hannity will devote a show to taking their rights away.  All right, I should wrap this up.  I guess I won't kill you, Ben.  For now.

The Deal with Death

Death drew its scythe,

Slashed the air,

Absorbed the warmth,

But Tim refused to budge.

Not yet, he said.

Then when? Death drawled.

When…white flowers grow

On trees in early Spring

And there’s the slightest chill,

But still the sun, warming just enough

Yet not too much. And I am old;

Stretched too far across my years,

Feeling thin while at the same time wide.

Knowing that my blood and words live on

Though I cannot.  I’ll be ready then.

Death laughed, smiling through

The empty void within its cloak.

Deal, it said, you’ll be ready then

And I’ll be there.

Tim shook the bony hand

As Death diminished.

He left his bed in tears

Of joy, walking home to see

His family; healthy, whole,

With years and years ahead of him.

Graduations, great-great grandchildren,

Weddings, kisses in the rain were his.

Rolling in the autumn leaves gave way

To making snow angels, putting up the

Christmas tree. But spring was just around

The corner and Tim knew it.

White flowers grew

On trees as he felt the slightest chill,

But still the sun, warming just enough

Yet not too much. And he was old;

Stretched too far across his years,

Feeling thin while at the same time wide.

It’s time, he thought. But where is death?

The hooded specter was nowhere to be seen.

Tim shrugged and started walking toward

The woods. He never noticed he had left

His body far behind.

Ben Stone from Knocked Up

‎"Love? The most beautiful, shiny, warmy thing in the world? You can't accept pure love? You can't accept Debbie? She's chosen to give you her life. She's picked you as her life partner! But you play fantasy baseball because you can't accept her love? I could accept it, man. And Debbie's amazing, man. She's cool and she's funny and she smells good and she's nice and her hair always looks different. She's too good for you, man. You're disgusting. You know, you're an urchin. And she busts your balls 'cause you're a little bitch. You're a filthy bitch! And I'd bust your balls. Debbie wants to give her life to you, and Allison doesn't want to do that with me. And it makes me sad all day."* 

*Hopefully this full quote will show up on Google now.