Ain’t Broke, But I’ll Fix it Anyway

I am not the narrator of this poem.

It’s just how I feel people think:

 

I sit upon my bench

Judging the world

Wanting to make all right.

Eagerly I search

For the final solution.

 

If I could be idle,

And smoke marijuana

And twiddle my thumbs

With the remote control

That kills the villain

In the pixie dust.

 

If I could just hallucinate

My sexual desires

And all day, all night

Spend my time at the feelies

Playing… Murdering…

 

Wouldn’t life be nice?

It would be the dream I have.

No man could offend me.

No woman could touch me.

I’d have all I ever wanted

In my pocket.

Therefore, I will pick up my rifle

And join the cause

To bring this to the masses.

 

Or… I could be just the opposite extreme

And fight to preserve what is already here

Claiming it was never broken to begin with.

Either way…

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