The World Crashes

Kennedy shot, the victors sworn
in again and again until I’m
born in the middle of a haze
of Watergates and gold medals.

We won the peace from Britain,
got a chance to “run” our country,
always bickering but there was hope,
and indeed “God” was spoken
of and accepted, regardless of religion
attached.

“Mind your own business,” the first
message on currency, then in
God we trust, Good and Evil still
the game, no matter what occupations
occupied the country.

My haze.

I woke up yesterday and realized a final
blow to my theory that something
good entertained and enhanced my past.

The girls must’ve been allright, the middle
school dances—something was pure, right?

No one ever calls me anymore, those days
are gone, I’ve retained one friend from school,
most of its theories and lessons dashed.

“Sports” were touted as so good, people in
general were either good or bad,
despite Jesus’ protest at the young
man approaching, calling him “Good teacher!”

Only God is good.

Sports were microcosms, indeed, good
for analogy? But hard on the back, and
shoulders, and knees, and need I get into
American football? A real headache.

Good grades, performance on the field.

Alcohol wasn’t really that bad to drink—
look at our parents. Look at those
commercials, those hot girls.

How were we going to talk with them
unless buzzed?

No one to guide us or tell us the
truth, we were too big for Jeff Bridges,
Dude this was a fight we could not win,
a war waged within,

Death awaited my best friends… I, and I
did not die, but I tried, and escape overdose
everynight, injuries from the past light up
the sky only in poetry driving me
on to explore the Kennedy killers.

When that corrupt, stay away, but every
once in a while I approach the lion’s den
with guidance learned from bible study—

It’s called “ministry.” Police, war, guns
they need Fathers:

Son, still it is true that if you live by violence
you shall die by it. God bless you—

Love, William