Friday, August 7, 2009

Sunday Morning

sunday morning the heavy male voice on the radio the guy that reads the five minutes of news that comes at the top of the hour that little note of somber reality quickly read to us that quick shot of bitter espresso that little jolt to wake us up before the she brings us the flute of too sweet champagne and orange juice before the full brunch of crepes filled with sweet berries and whipped cream before the lively lady regales us with homey montages of the latest norah epheron julia child movie the obama beer sipping controversy the best beach books of the summer moving on to giggling bantering around the sunday puzzle some upbeat middle aged man his faithful wife and beautiful dog sitting at his feet both laughing along with him with the radio lady and her little self-depracating jokes about her own intelligence her lack thereof her own inability to come up with the five letter words that begin with an eff end with an ish or an esh and might fit into a shakespearean sonnet should he mister shakespeare himself arise from the dead shake off the dust the dirt the loam of neglect of several centuries begin anew scribbling limericks about nantucket on discarded wienerschnitzel napkins found on the streets of indianapolis of saint louis of des moines of toledo our puzzle solving hero signing off victoriously hands clasped overhead rocky atop the steps of the philadelphia museum dancing away with the goods a morning edition coffee mug and a tee shirt to wear around the starbucks just outside his suburban gated enclave

this morning sunday morning the heavy male voice he says in a rather matter of fact sort of way he says with his scintillating journalistic excellence his keen eye to neutered objectivity he says

four american soldiers died today when a roadside bomb exploded near their vehicle and

without skipping a beat

he goes on to talk of prolonged aid for unemployment running out the throngs of people mourning the loss of miz aquino in manila and a renewed effort to buy clunkers from fools who bought ess you vees people of means yes but by no means kings of the road or so you would think or so you would hope


ah sunday mornings

sometimes they just be reg'lar sometimes they just like any other day sun comes up over the water just like yesterday just like it might tomorrow comes up over the water washes us cleanses us whispers into narrates our vivid just before waking dreams tells us jesus loves us yes he does because the bible tells us so because the residuals of the last joey of the evening toked on the couch while watching the two ay em western black and white with audy murphy that joey still flies around your head in an old old red tri-plane a dog on doghouse chasing it the dog shaking its paw the scent of the joey printed on the banner sailing behind flapping in the breezes flowing between hammer anvil and stirrup and their respective unobstructed stoner holes

jesus loves you on one side jesus is the reason for the season on the other

but sometimes a sunday morning comes around and changes a man's life sometimes on a sunday morning mister preacherman he might stand up in front of the congregation he might talk about jesus christ he might talk about jesus at just the right moment in a man's life he might invoke the holy spirit at that moment when a man is down crippled with the aftereffects of a saturday night a man who awoke in the front seat of his car slumped over the steering wheel the white dry saliva crusted not only on his lips but on his thick useless tongue as well an ashtray full of butts an empty pint of bourbon peeking out of a paper bag in his lap an empty bottle of aftershave on the seat next to him sometimes a preacherman might find that man might reach that man

might change his life

all it takes is a moment all it takes is a snap crackle pop of time

sitting down sunday morning just hanging down at java beach digging the sun the air the leftover saturday buzz the glow of the lingering fuck the fog of the night before sin no less than boomhauer himself yes with crisp white tee shirt you ess flag drawn on its sleeve you ess em sea on his baseball cap coffee spills the table mumbles his discontent

give me a gun i'll kill 'em all

out the window down the street gulls flying round like drunken skeet

big you ess flag flapping in the wind over the church
how many friends do we leave in the lurch
you ess flag flapping in the breeze
a few more bullets get 'em on their knees

flap jack lip smack kiss their ass good bye
flip flop tick tock more people die

way way on down way down in afgahni-town

and hippies on the beach doing the yoga thing in the pacific sun all decked out in their hippie yogi tights wic-a-way shirts complete with politically appropriate and witty slogan printed across some artistic interpretation of an obama yes we can bumper sticker phattie smiles circle their addled peace-loving brains dirty fucking faggots i bet they were quakers or hare krishnas in a previous life i bet they've never even shot a gun i bet they've never twisted the neck off a chicken in order to make the sunday dinner i bet they don't know how many mexicans got to die to bring their organic tomato salsa corn chips to the farmer's market

don't you know if i had a four foot long hippie dick don't you know the miracles that would spring forth

hell if my dick were four feet long i'd wear tight yogi pants too if my dick were four feet long i wouldn't have to wear kevlar cammo and a helmet wouldn't have to run around them mountains shooting at goats and bearded fucks with rags wrapped round their heads if my dick were four feet long i wouldn't have to prove to the world how fucking studly i am

i wouldn't have to sublimate with a grenade launcher

like obama do

obama who don't even know why we're in afghani-town says he needs time to figure it out got to determine the proper metrics it ain't just about how many we kill there are other things to consider we got to come up with a standardized normalized methodology for capturing statistics boiling them down stirring them up sliding them into an effective power point presentation with graphs and animations and slogans talk about how many wells we've drilled how many schools we've built how many people vote in the next election we'll create nine solid metrics that we'll track that we'll report to the media that we'll beam out to the heavens bounce them back down to show the world prove to everyone that

we're doing the right thing

that we're winning

and winning is all that fucking counts hell if my dick were four feet long i'd just hang round the house get lucky and slide

like obama do

obama who don't even know why we're in afghani-town says he needs time to figure it out jesus mary and joseph fucking hell it's just like watching hoops on tv the drones sink another basket nutha mulla down we all just wanna know where to place our bets we all just want to know who is setting odds

meanwhile we just send more troops we kill more we send more troops we die more

hell yeah

gonna get me a drone
gonna make me a surgical strike
gonna find his momma's home
gonna fuck up his lovely wife

sometimes a sunday morning comes around and changes a man's life all it takes is a moment all it takes is a snap crackle pop of time

sunday morning four american soldiers died today and all that

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