— Dennis Richardson
The two-ply toilet paper has split itself
again into two different personalities,
one, a turn ahead of the other. I fix them
but it happens again and then again,
starting to make me angry. Freud
might have said something about this,
especially this following so soon after
my rectangles, but that’s a different poem.
We are on vacation, I woke at 5 a.m.ish,
hence the bathroom, not being able to get back
to sleep, thinking about the seeming loss
of our democracy, like the loss of both of my arms,
Congress bought and paid for by big money,
the Supreme Court supporting it.
They never mentioned anything like this
in my high school civics class.
How could my Democracy just pick up
and walk away without telling me.
I am thinking I should be able to write
a poem out of this slim connection: my anger
at the tissue and something in my world
not working like it’s suppose to.
I’m thinking third world now, countries
forever with dictators, or second world
like China or Russia, ruled. When I read
The Fountainhead and Atlas Shrugged,
I didn’t really know what she was talking about.
Thomas Jefferson said we’d need to have
a revolution every generation because
that is how long it takes for it to become so bad
that it can’t be corrected. So I’m thinking
what would a revolution look like today
in America? Would there be blood in the streets?
Is it too late to fight again for the common good,
for what we had or thought we had when I was a kid?