Mad

Sometimes it happens
That way—my friends all
Mad at me.  They don’t
Answer, or if they do
It’s to bait some flaw
Irrevocable I can’t help
Easily the country voice
(“Forrest Gump? Or is this
Karl Childers speaking?”)
Or perhaps a mood
That doesn’t quite match up
To the free help they need
Moving to a bigger house
Or putting together a grill
With a thousand bolts.
Or it might be a milestone I
Overlooked—a wedding party,
A godson’s soccer game–
Because I don’t like crowds
And prefer each player
A buddy of mine, that is,
Prefer to hear them talk
Or age for age commune
By common myth, our
Ancestors’ valor at Gettysburg,
Say, or how globalism sucks.
Yes, age for age, some ageless common bond!
A Reich that really lasts a thousand years
And doesn’t invade Russia
Nor blames the Jews en masse
For Jeffrey Epstein
Would be nice.
Or perhaps I should just
Learn more about soccer… 

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