Chronic Discontent


I spot him stalking our mailbox

dressed in drab, terrycloth

discern him

shocking the quiet neighbor

with threats of bear sightings

blood-engorged ticks

a tactic he learned in Nam.

Habitually absent at the Town Street Festival

he retreats inside his roach motel

to re-patch old newspaper to the windows,

follow the stock market and inflate his belly.

He wheezes about the drought,

draining the swamp,

and fixing the front porch.

then whines about indigestion

forking down a hunk of salami

leaving a stalk of slimy lettuce,

that the army ants snub

during their pillaged raid

into the shadowed

side, of town.

 

 

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