Free verse № 59686
Inet. mag. editors R jealous red haired Jews, oh and I'm 29
(99% of editors become editors
because their writing deteriorates
as their 'idea' of what's worth
publishing turns them into David
Mamet cliches with the last word.
Why their closest friends and peers
are afraid to tell them the truth
Is why great writers have no hair.)
On my first loveless birthday
My parents gave to me
A basket up the river for free
On my second welfare birthday
My parents moved around
From a squat to a flat downtown
On my third toy less birthday
My parents bought for me a
Wheel-less car from a Salvation-less army
On my fourth no heat Birthday
My parents thought it smart
That I should pan handle as an art
On my fifth pitch black birthday
My parents offered me
A best friend I never got to see
On my sixth candle-less birthday
My parents surprised me with
A used wedding cake lacking width
On my seventh unimmunized birthday
My parents, broken down
Left me at a Lion's club lost & found
On my eighth wordless birthday
My parents let me say
"Are you motherfuckers going to sleep all day?"
On my ninth full time birthday
My parents let me sign
A time card before the unemployment line
On my tenth dehydrated birthday
My parents got in a fight
Because, their whiskey bottle was gettin' light
On my eleventh wish-less birthday
My parents let me know
How far a five-dollar whore would really go
On my twelfth pet-less birthday
My parents broke the bank
Buying me a fish that wouldn't swim, it only sank
On my thirteenth luckless birthday
My parents dumpster dove for me
An attached rabbit's foot soaked in its pee
On my fourteenth peach fuzzed birthday
My parents traded me in for
A legless gypsy to knob dust their floor
On my fifteenth model-less birthday
My parents took me too
A park where we could all huff glue
On my sixteenth car-less birthday
My parent's arranged
For me to meet the criminally deranged
On my seventeenth sexless birthday
My parents stripped me down
To delouse my colonized pubic mound
On my eighteenth, I'm free, birthday
My parents kicked me out
But since we had no house I went roundabout
On my nineteenth flattop birthday
My parents enlisted me
So that I could peel me an education militarily
On my twentieth uniformed birthday
My parents urged me go
Kill Somalians like GI. Joe
On my twenty first jail-celled birthday
My parents said, "We told you so"
And warned me to beware the soapy Afro
On my twenty second convicted birthday
My parents made me cry
By giving me an iffy alibi
On my twenty third loneliest birthday
My parents finally bought a home
But they only gave me a switchblade comb
On my twenty fourth drugged birthday
My parents gave me an heirloom
My uncles' smack rig with a burnt spoon
On my twenty fifth alcoholic birthday
My parents threw a party
Not for me, but for their dealer Marty
On my twenty sixth heartless birthday
My parents let me in on a score
So I could do all the work, while they earned more
On my twenty seventh unholiest birthday
My parents bought the farm
Just another reason to stick needles in my arm
On my twenty eighth detoxing birthday
With my parents a year in the ground
I adopted the ugliest mutt in the cityâs pound
On my twenty ninth wizened birthday
A day not unlike this one
I feel better shoulder chipped, than with none.
Dedicated to anyone with the gall to allow
opinion to turn fact because, "they don't get it."
Get this... Editors 'edit' not talk about 'editing'.
20 comments
I'm loving your stuff of late.10
(No rows today Mr H) - Happy Birthday 9
Today is your day bro.
Tonight is your night bro.
Happy 29!!
WICKED POEM !
than what you can cough out
smoking Selegiline laced
zig-zag wrapped tabacky
chemical fumes can poison the lungs
and while horus puffs on wacky mary
you'll be a science project
a free enviromental lab stiff
them university slackers
kept laughin at that frozen
death mask, which looked
much like a washed up salmon
lips a deep purplish blue
the infamous painted hue
that is the trademark indication
of suicide.
A background report of this ghost
suggests that his lack of imagination
was what drove him to suffocate
humanity rejoices in his death
that left him unable to procreate.
thankfully in failure he managed
to serve a purpose, as he is displayed
refrigerated, in the human hall of evolution.
Smoke that SuckyHoe,
im sure you know
how to hold your breath.
On a nonfiction note:
On my 11th neglected birthday
my parents forgot me
at the YMCA after closing hours
(with their phone off the hook
until the janitor had to give me a ride home
at the hour of 10 o'clock.)
It is too painful to even attempt to rhyme. Sniff.
Saying that I think you should offer this poem as a stand alone and though I agree with you're editorial it detracts.
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