Sliver

A man is a meatloaf waiting for the bus
he carries time on his wrist
an eagle on his shirt
a ball cap on his bald head
neck fat rolls – from under hat to under clothes
an old sunburned farmer’s physique, displaced
in the city where burdens build
where women and children and coloreds fail
to know their places and keep to them…

a democrat for mayor
another in the governor’s mansion
and for president in the white house too
the world’s gone mad, evidently enough
everyone looking for easy…

a man can be a jello mold
wieners suspended in translucent green
he can sit out in the heat
losing his form
hot dogs sliding off the platter to the floor
he can be rigid and pre-shaped
against the world
the way things are he would rather weren’t
there’s a way things ought to be
and into those untenable conditions
he has poured and distorted himself dutifully
for family, for country, for god
a man who fits into reality
like a sliver in the eye
blind and needing to be pulled out of it

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