Wednesday, February 22, 2017

"If I Were a Lump of Excrement in the Bowels of President Trump" with second version

If I Were a Lump of Excrement in the Bowels of President Trump

If I were a lump of excrement
In the bowels of President Trump
I would not rest until I was expelled.

Like attracts like, they sometimes say,
So one might assume,
If I were a piece of shit i‎nside the piece of shit president,
That I might like to stay there.
But I don't think I would.

I think I would be like,
There is shit and then there is shit,
And this Trump shit- I would want no part of it:
Let me out‎, I would scream
Let me swim freely in the sewers!

But what price freedom?
Wouldn't the other waste products shun me?
I wouldn't blame them
There is shit and there is shit.
‎And I would be shit's shit.

The vast majority of shit expelled by Americans
Wa‎s expelled  by Americans who either voted against the shit that shitted me
Or did not vote at all
So I would either have to hang
With shit that would reject me and isolate me
Or I would have to hang out with the shit
That was expelled by assholes who voted
For the shit that shitted me

Fuck that shit
I would rather be alone.

So I am glad I am not literally a waste product in the bowels of Trump
But I am saddened that sometimes it seems as though I am.

February 20, 2017

Second version:*

If I were a lump of excrement
In the bowels of President Trump
I would not rest until I was expelled.

Like attracts like, they sometimes say,
So one might assume,
If I were a piece of poop i‎nside the piece of poop president,
That I might like to stay there.
But I don't think I would.

I think I would be like,
There is poop and then there is poop,
And this Trump poop- I would want no part of it:
Let me out‎, I would scream
Let me swim freely in the sewers!

But what price freedom?
I wonder: wouldn't the other waste products shun me?
I wouldn't blame them
There is poop  and there is poop.
‎And I would be poop's poop.

‎The vast majority of poop expelled by Americans
Wa‎s expelled  by Americans who either voted against the poop that pooped me
Or did not vote at all
So I would either have to hang out
With poop that would reject me and isolate me
Or I would have to hang out with the poop
That was expelled by buttholes who voted
For the poop that pooped me

Poop on that poop.
I would rather be alone.

So I am glad I am not literally a waste product in the bowels of Trump
But I am saddened that sometimes it seems as though I am.

rev. 2.22.2017

* The second version was composed after telling my ten year old about the first version, and being disinclined to read it to her as it was.

Thursday, February 9, 2017

"That Guy Over There -- Telling That Story" and "The Other Day, When it Was Raining"

That Guy Over There -- Telling That Story

        I
That story,
That that guy over there,
Is telling to those people over there,
Is not an interesting story.

Those two people
Pretending to be interested
In that guy's story--
Are doing a really good job
Of pretending to be interested
In that guy's story
I feel sorry for them.
I am really glad
That I am not one of those two people
Who have to be listening
To that guy's story over there.

That guy, over there,
Telling that story,
Seems almost as self-satisfied
As that guy at the Ladybird restaurant
On MacDougal Street
Last month:
I think he must have been an actor,
And Jesus fuck was he proud of himself
Telling his endless fucking story
About who the fuck cares
Jesus fuck he was entertaining
Although not quite entertaining enough
To ruin our excellent meal.

But this guy,
Right now telling that story--
Maybe his story is actually good--
One of the two people listening to him
Is laughing.
They both seem to be enjoying
That guy's story.

Still, he is way too proud of himself.
I am glad I don't
Have to listen to him
And I am really glad
I am not him,
And that I could never be
As self satisfied as him.

If I am ever as self-satisfied
As that guy telling that story,
Please kill me immediately,
And then bring me back to life
And kill me again.

        II

Of course,
As Leslie just correctly pointed out,
I seem awfully self-satisfied
After having made my comments
About that guy, over there, telling that story.
I think my days are numbered.

February 9, 2017


The Other Day, When it Was Raining

The other day, when it was raining,
I thought of that time, a long, long time ago,
I think it was a Tuesday or a Wednesday,
And it was raining, and I was walking home
From the Pioneer Supermarket
On Bleecker Street and Sixth Avenue
And I was happy, and I was singing,
And yes, I was singing The Carpenters:
"Rainy Days and Mondays"
(An early hit for Paul Williams,
Who also wrote "Rainbow Connection," and
Who also played Virgil in
Battle For the Planet of the Apes).

So I was walking, and singing
(I do this a lot, and sometimes
People catch me doing it:
The last time that happened,
Earlier this week,
I was singing Cohen's
"If It Be Your Will,"
To make sure I knew it,
For yesterday's performance at Hi-Fi,
And the person who caught me
Outside singing, said
"People will think you're crazy,"
Which maybe they do.
And maybe they're not wrong.)

But, so, anyway,
I was walking, and singing,
"Rainy Days and Mondays"
On a rainy Tuesday or Wednesday
In 1971 or '72, most likely,
And this man said,
In a kind voice
"But it's not even Monday."
And I smiled and walked on,
But I thought to myself,
The song isn't about
Rainy Mondays:
It's about rainy days and Mondays:
Both.
Either one.
They both always get
Paul Williams and Nancy Carpenter down.

But what has always gotten me down
For 45 years,
Including, most recently,
The other day, when it was raining,
Is that I didn't make this point
To the very stupid (although very nice) man
Who interrupted my singing that day.

February 9, 2017