AnalogMojo


the blow job (work in progress)
April 10, 2012, 8:09 am
Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: , , , , ,

clad in work boots brown,

and skin too, he came

just in time. they all breathed

a sigh of relief; it was after

the autumn winds blew

the changing of the leaves.

they didn´t know who sent him,

unimportant, he had come

to do work so the power

suits never seemed worn.

covered in plastic, and hands,

they inspected, but not too carefully,

[asking questions with no care

for the answers, remember, he

allowed their freedom, so they

let him in. he didn´t look around

much, he knew there was a job to do,

the set-up was familiar: do & don´t speak.

up the stairs, through the glass doors

and into the heart of it all, the dusty,

musty money of it all clear in every

immaculate conception of wealth.

there was always further to go but

he didn´t tire, he was used to being

on his feet, the brown of his boots

like the brown of his skin, something

he´d worn in. so many doors, branches,

here and there, where did they all go?

he wondered without caring, only the

ones he wanted had meaning, the ones

that lead to the last. when he found it,

he paused, poised, was it really this easy?

once he´d gotten past the gates, no one

looked his way twice. eyes everywhere

and no one saw him. he was wasting

time thought, and something told him

they´d notice that.

– – – –

the irony is outstanding.

everything ends, i know that,

and knew that this, especially this

would have to end, just not how or when.

they don´t like brown skin in white houses,

they´d rather that these white bones are

embraced by brown dirt, 6-feet of it

to be exact- and it would be exact-

but this, this is beyond, just beyond,

anything i´d imagined.

he is boot brown, like me,

he timberland, i patagonia.

his shirt is slightly rumpled,

like mine, and worn in like

a second skin, decorated in

sweat, like mine, his hands

beginning to falter; i almost

laugh, and then  [perdoname]

he whispers, a prayer and an apology

– – – –

OBAMA ASSASSINATED!

Today, the world is stunned. Nobody can believe it and we are almost at a loss on how to report this shocking, tragic, and bizzare, news. The 44th President of the United States, Barack Hussein Obama, has been found dead in the Oval Office. His body was accompanied by that of a man who is being named to be the assassin, though neither the room nor the bodies show obvious signs of a struggle. He is described as a Mexican male in his early 30´s, with short dark brown hair and eyes, of medium build. He was wearing tan Dickies, a white t-shirt and a red long sleeve flannel button down shirt. The bizzare begins here, it appears the only thing found on his body, other than the clothes on his back, was: a leaf blower. He is speculated to be a gardener at the White House though no one yet interviewed could recall ever having seen the man.

* DEDICATED TO WANDA SYKES FOR HER INSIGHT AND THE TOUGH LOVE OF HER CRAFT, TEACHING US TO LAUGH THROUGH THE OPENING OF OUR EYES, EVEN WHEN ITS HURTFUL *

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