Holy Moly

Daytime TV fills the room
with useless effluent.
The mechanically recovered meat
of entertainment.
A vision of hell
not imagined by Dante,
Orwell or Aldous Huxley.

In this, our Brave New World
With no Last Rites
or intramuscular LSDs.
No priest at the bedside
or furrowed brow.
No Father or Son
Just you; screaming Holy Moly.

Was it worth the wait:
the nine and eighty years
of silence.
Or is this just jabber:
a story, then apology.
Something to comfort
your crusty old soul.

You’re alone in that hospital bed.
Mouth open, like a corpse.
Whimpering at night,
a child once again.
Do you see him in your dreams;
the man from your story.
Is it he who makes you scream.

Holy Moly.



Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: