Politics is a poke in the eye.
While driving a speed boat.
Through shark infested waters.
My eye has been poked.
The seas are choppy.
The boat is slapping through the waves.
There’s blood in the water.
I want to keep driving though.
It’s somehow safer if I’m in control.
Whipping violently through the water,
blindly slicing the sea.
I can’t hear the screams of, “Man Overboard!”
The boat, filled with pundits, mouthpieces,
shills, moneyed interests, and fat cats,
has no time to stop for one overboard,
we’ve got to get to shore.
Regardless of cost.
A green beacon, beckons, flashing,
I can barely make it out through my furious
eye rubbing. The noise of the passengers,
cantankerously accusing each other of letting
another passenger tumble over the side.
Just have to make it to shore,
Just make it to East Egg and
I can let these people go.
I can stop them from poking
everyone in the eyes.
The sea spray stings my face,
and I squint, in the night,
trying to get back on course,
or maybe, chart a new one.