Just the other day I had felt like dying. My life was tired and old. <br />My white shoes were grass stained and reeking of bad poetry. <br />The mower was being held in contempt by the gas can <br />and both had just been informed of the higher cost of oil; <br />Due to the tremendous growth in the Chinese economy <br />and much higher than expected carbon emissions in India. <br /> <br />Bukowski was renting space in my head for free, while Ginsberg <br />Howled over the dandelions that were overtaking the lawn. <br />All fertilizer sales had been suspended, fears of <br />Homegrown terrorism was growing like weeds and widespread. <br />Rod McKuen had been apprehended and arrested <br />Shortly after nine by the department of Homeland Security <br />Caught cashing my checks from the Mexican government, <br /> Using an illegal immigrant’s photo ID for proof of citizenship. <br /> <br />With most all of my autobiographical accounts overdrawn <br />“Insufficient funds” due to a liberal sense of entitlement <br />On the part of left wing politics, and subjugated to prosecution of fraud. <br />Dante wrote me that Hell had frozen over, <br />And he had moved to Miami to be closer to his dead mother. <br /> <br />Death was looking attractive as <br />Eighteen year old virgins talked of their affairs <br />While wearing their public nudity, like warrants <br />Arresting me, and tempting me with the suicidal promises <br />Of four hour erections, <br />And an elongated epic for better penetration. <br /> <br />I was sure I wanted to die, as my world was empty and I was alone… <br />When I heard that little voice in my head say <br />“Killing yourself because no one understands you is rubbish, <br />If you kill yourself, do it because everybody is on to you.” <br /> <br /> <br />2010 © T.S.<br /><br />Ted Sheridan<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/high-fly-balls-to-center/
