Thursday, March 5, 2020

A Poem: Confession of a Realist

Brutal Realism

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Confession of a Realist

A realist about other people’s lack
of toasty winter coats,
I expect them
to be realistic about my 401k;

in the context of which
I’m realistic about Lockheed Martin’s
need to add to their stockpile of
Dollars by finding more
brown people to liberate
by setting their countries
on fire.

I expect the brown community
both internally and out foreign –
with the absolute exception of those
on the Democratic National Committee –
to be realistic about the limits of
my love for them.

Realistic about low-end people
with terrible teeth
and the need for political candidates
with impossibly white smiles;

like everyone else here
I’m wildly for, in theory,
hospital beds for everyone
but realistic about a certain per cent of relatives
going to DNA stained motel rooms to end things,
when the chemotherapy bills come in.

I beg of you, put Bernie Sanders aside
or, if necessary, to death
and be realistic about the need
for a certain per cent starvation
to oil loose the markets.

When I think of all I sacrificed to sit
behind quadruple glazed windows
trying to watch a film:
‘Mephisto’ or ‘The Discreet
Charm of the Bourgeoisie’,
my phone being pinged all evening
by messages from work;

I grow more and more realistic
about how difficult it is
for the electricity company
to have to switch
other people’s lights off;

but know some people are
just better off in the dark.

Kevin Higgins

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