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Mass Direction

My dad practiced the French Drop
as a POW in Germany. He would
mystify my brother and me when we
were 5 and 6. It's all about
the art of misdirection. The coin
is in the left hand, no, the right.
I never liked
being deceived. Now count
the lies our leaders have told us.
The art of mass direction is afoot.
Are they bumbling idiots? Or is
there a conspiracy to sink the ship?
Is it the left or the right? Choose
the cup the ball is beneath. Are your
eyes 2020? Are you sure? Sucker.

 
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Posted by on October 21, 2021 in Poetry

 

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Telephony

‘How are you – how’s it going?’
I don’t want to answer, but
‘I’m good, thanks,’
it’s a bald-faced lie,

Life is a jumble.
but, I join the customary
dance of mendacity

Making a report,
‘I was in the hospital,’
‘Oh yeah?’ in her sing-song
‘Tell me all about it,’

she pretends to cough
using the action to glance
at the cell in her hand
–eyes roll, then
she feigns caring eyes.

I should halt but,
‘I almost died,’
a soliloquy–

she burbles, ‘But you look so healthy,’
‘Thank you,’
the conversation ends.

 

©–Limericist 2006

 
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Posted by on March 12, 2021 in Poetry

 

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