It's Probably Chocolate

 

The drunken poet in me

rambles on about

the inequities inherent in

our society and pontificates

on how to then fix those

inequities, then cries when

no one hears.

 

The professorial poet in me

feels shame when basic intelligence

is challenged by ignorant bullies,

hell bent on shaping society into

their image of might making right,

rather than compassionate understanding,

and empathetic reason.

 

The sober poet,

feels the wealth of sadness,

in everyone’s souls as I see them,

trudging through the difficult

tall grasses of life, swearing under

their breath, a cold smile pasted

on their faces. No poem to fix it.

 

The writer, tells a story, about

robots going to prom, or goldfish

eating people, or going to the Moon

to die, and none of it seems to have

made much of any difference,

the World indifferently carries on,

to my chagrin.

 

In my multifaceted and obviously

complex internal struggle as an artist,

a writer, a drunken poet, an armchair

philosopher, a lover, a fighter, an ally;

I recognize the contradictions of my soul

and wonder how real it is, and how I can

best keep it uncorrupted.

 

It’s probably Chocolate.

Yeah, chocolate is usually the solution.

Until it runs out.   

Then… we’re truly doomed,

and then no poet can save us.