UPRISING
—Stephen Dobyns
Straitjacket, straitjacket, straitjacket:
we are tired of this quiet life, tired of climbing
this mountain of pleases and thank yous.
It's time to kick a nun in the butt,
time to buy our prick a goddamned big car
and let the world frazzle our ears.
It's time to stop this tiptoeing around,
to stop being the property of our property.
Who lives in this holy temple anyhow?
Let's get the formaldehyde out of our veins.
Let's strip this lampshade off of our head.
It's time to stand at the door, shouting, Come back!
And here comes Envy sliding along on greased feet,
and gray-suited Lechery with his little cane,
and twin-headed Vanity winking into his own eyes,
and Anger going Grum, Grum on his little red scooter,
and chubby Appetite panting along behind the rest.
The beer's cold, the insults are hot. We'll dance
all night to the complaints of our neighbors.
We've got to get moving! Somewhere that shovel
stands propped against a wall, the patch of grass
is freshly cut where that final hole will be dug.
Let's march toward our grave scratching and farting,
our own raucous music of shouted good-byes.
Let's make sure they bury us standing up.
______________________
—Medusa (all moved, and back in the juice)
