A Broken Flusher
Either you start doing it or it will keep being done to you. For your own good.
It’s for your own good
my father belted.
My mother did the same but
at the dinner table with peas.
Mr. Drury in Grade 7 had me
write lines of PPPPPPPs
until I filled the whole chalkboard.
“It’s for your own good”, he opined.
........................................
Cigarettes are now 10 bucks a pack
and casinos
1,000 dollar plane rides away.
“It’s for your own good”, they say.
You can't even crack a cold one
and kick back on the beach.
.......................................
Seat belts, sanitoriums and saints
always a safe, sane step away.
My wife, my ever, always wife
books me monthly to see a doctor
as much a dunce as a doc can be.
All he offers are pills and pleasantries.
Both saying, “It’s good for you!”
.................................……
Wars, weddings, sprayed green lawns
papal proclamations and government edicts ….
It’s all for your own good
they declare when asked.
........................................
I am, my life now nearly done
a man too long ruled
by useless, tepid rules.
I followed footsteps and danced
for my own good, like I was told.
.....................................
Thinking back I now know
how I came to be who I am
this man, here and now
in this poem
finally at home in the world
relaxed on the edge, aware
of what really is good for me,
MY FLUSHER BROKE.
...........................
It’s like one day you wake up
and realize there ain’t no jello tree
and Santa's the local pedophile.
You realize the gingerbread man
has run out of your dreams
and you find out the dictionary
was written by a dyslexic sadist,
so you head out the door to
write your own.