The Rip Post                                                                                              

Down That Road
Did you again expect
Some poetic similes
Or smiley faces
Affixed to envelopes
Announcing your
Impending victory
Over poverty and death?

Havenít you had enough yet?
Havenít you been down that road before?
Because you know where it leads.
Yet, each morning you awake
In the same delusional fever
Expecting the game to make some sense
Even though you scarcely have a clue.

So you could dance or sing
You can rant and rave,
You could be as humble as a ghost
You could refrain from breathing
And stop your heart from beating.

Or you could become invisible
Like some ridiculous angel
Whose mission is to talk
To dogs and cats,
Play trombones
and wear high hats.

But you keep trudging down that
Same old road, dragging along
That old familiar load of confusion
About motive and destination
Itís been so long now youíve
Even stopped asking the question.

Compadres would commiserate
If they only knew how, but you
Left them off at various stops
And you travel on as before
Alone even though you
Know the score and that
You took a wrong turn
Somewhere along the way.

So youíre out there
In the land of angels
On high ladders
Blowing trumpets
Like Kafka it makes
No sense, but thatís
What it is and to pretend
You can ever win at
The rigged game
Leaves you to blame.

You forgot to be careful,
Youíve lost you focus,
Your vision is beclouded
By extraneous refrains.

Itís not Christmas,
Jesus is just another
Port in a storm,
A room in a dorm,
A pit in a prune,
A cobblestone
To hobble you
As you stumble
On down
That road.
---Jack Oakes


© 2002 Rip Rense. All rights reserved.