Sunday, March 7, 2010

What to do on a Sunny Day in Paradise?

0641/1833 55/65 Blue Skies NE 10/20 50%H
DOGS 10528 8171 1136 1742.

Greetings from the Hill.

Another perfect day in paradise,
cyclists out and about
taking the sun,
grinning with God...
"Happy to be free,"
snorts the madone watching
from the balcony.

A red rooster returned awoke
the oldman before five to watch
an entertainer in sneakers,
grey slacks and blue blazer
ranting about the presidents,
"Big Time stooge for Fox,
the fuckers even have Gasparino,
better than that dickhead Beck,"
the madone liked Charlie.

Another promise abandoned, always the same,
New Orleans, Twin Towers, now Main Street,
roads, bridges and schools...
"The Three Stooges have done more damage
than all the sleezeball traders
and contract manipulators
with presidential pens,"
sighed the oldman weary of the lies,
wondering if apathy went with obesity
to the food stamp offices.

"Chasing donkeys with million dollar drones,
backing up a heroin ring,
murdering a primitive culture...
sound fucking familiar,
those precious earthly commodities
that greedy men bank on
after soldiers spill their blood
and generals retire,"
the pentagon machine serving
the executive office,
this war mongering masquerader
suckered in Iraq, led by Israel,
doomed in Afghanistan,
the Peace Prize hawk,
Commander in Chief of Chaos.

Hockey season all year at the new rink,
saved and supported by Pretty Sing,
the oldman could only remember,
of course that was about all there was
when passing into the eighth decade,
unless one was Gordie Howe,
the hockey sticks were still
on the front porch
for the Love Lane Bladers,
the road hockey league.

Yesterday morning taking the sun
reading on the front porch,
Tom's gift, The New Yorker...
an interesting tale of Chicago
and Mayor Daley who has succeeded
in creating an American Gem,
that amazing combination
of grit and graft
with nepotism
and powerful bulldozers.

"The man lost his white momma,
his black daddy died drunk
in an African ditch and
his white granny
paid the bills,"
sighed the oldman,
sometimes sympathetic to
a political actor who
portrays and performs
as president.

Kevin Kline was his favorite,
of course as 'Jack'.

"Hey, Jack, Fred Couples is ahead,"
watching the Champions
on his big screen TV.

The Europeans were pissed off,
credit swaps by Hedge Hogs
and speculating derivatives
were bouncing basis points
to volatility...
"Why own when you can rent
a bet for the week."

The sun was setting
over the neighbor's roof,
the opera from Havana,
clear as the clean windows,
cats on the table...
waiting for dinner.

Gardening done,
garbage out,
beer cans recycled.

Springbreakers coming
with Daddy's card.

dreams of the
ultimate role

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