The End As We Know It

Hark, for the end times are upon us

most will sleep through it

right up to the part where we can no longer

fill up the tank and drive to WalMart, or anywhere.

The 30% off coupon at Kohl’s

will expire right along with

our lifestyle

causing our evil twins to rise

like the Zombies that they are

instinctual, without a conscience, profanely

walking the earth

unable to find simple antibiotics or aspirin

back to fire without matches

Cigarettes, obesity and GMO’s won’t kill us

but the seniors living in tunnels and caves after electricity, searching for a triple A battery, might.

And if any survive

within three generations

they may revert back to

wearing animal skins

and wielding stone knives

their incisors will lengthen

and their focus will be singular;

their new communal directive will be to

track down the Mormon pantry and something called a can opener.

Inspired by James Howard Kunstler at the 2014 Woodstock Writer's Festival

Simple Math

For a few minutes

I feel gifted

until my inner fanatic

delivers another sucker punch

rendering the equation useless.

And as the blood drains

I sense a spangled lone star tick

has cracked my code, again.

Tiki Cartouche

Tiki Cartouche

a distant cousin, way far removed of Katya’s,

had friends

important gods from the realm of tikidom.

He was not someone to mess with

Tiki Cartouche was a fishing GOD!

Suzy Pacu from South America knew

even the Japanese koi twins, Hiroshi and Sachi

banked left

when they saw his face

above the water peering down at them

pondering today’s method for their demise.

They shit little fish pellets

when they escaped

bubbling over a Guinness

with friends on Fishbrook

and when Sachi

Fishtagrammed a pic of that massively ugly face

peering down into their living room

it horrified them even more.

Astounding what with progress and all

they were still being terrorized

by that wooden man wearing shell earrings, with shells for eyes.

Lucy the catfish had looked once, had reported of

the hulking shadow, had heard the loud drone beyond and

sitting atop his shoulders numerous white angelic creatures with wings

Lucy was smart; she had called them cattle egrets, which had mystified them all, they were certainly outnumbered. it was bad enough they had to watch for Sadie the

fish hawk, who oft times dropped her prey onto the muddy banks. Sadie had cannibalized poor Archie in front of all of them. Archie had been in denial about his weight problem.

Better to be safe Lucy had said

and whatever you do

don’t stare into Tiki’s eyes or he will pluck them out and shell you.

OMG, what is shell! they gasped among themselves, for no-one wanted to admit they didn't know,

as they swished about the pond panic stricken, burying themselves inches below the mud.

Chronic Discontent

I spot it by the mailbox

wearing a gray terrycloth robe and a pair of black Isotoner leopard slippers

entertaining the messy neighbor

with predictions of bear sightings and blood engorged ticks

brought on by a mutual repulsion for yard work.

Later it disguises itself

as a local journalist

gasping about disharmony

throughout the Mid-Hudson valley

allergic to crowds and absent at the town street festival

it prefers to drive home alone

belittle the spouse

complain of indigestion

and then eat

a hunk of Swiss cheese

and leftover asparagus

that the army ants have snubbed.

Trafficking

Inspired by  Jennifer Clement author of, Prayers for the Stolen

Trafficking

in human cargo;

Girls, mostly.

Shuffling them

like a deck of cards

beauty queens

traded to the highest bidder

and then traded again.

Pirated cargo

sold, reshuffled

cut and re-cut

until cynical

and finally sent to jail

to be reformed.

All to keep

the monsters fed

voracious gluttons

who would eat their own mothers

for a filling of gold.

Where is Noah?

Beauty is lost

behind black and blue.

It forgets the green field

the smell of fresh dahlias

the taste of pomegranates

it decays when

sliced up and passed among those

whose foul hearts reek.

Where is Noah?

And how long

before the rains come

again?

Maggie Estep - Emotional Idiot on Def Jam Poetry