Jay McLeod writes sharp, funny, angry poems about the struggle to resist conformity while working through a string of dead end jobs.
Trash
At the end of the day
It all amounts to the same
Tread lightly
Stalker-azzi
The road to bling-bling
Is paved with good intentions
A car in the swimming pool
A series of revelations in the supermarket
Fliers
Feel the almighty love of Dr. Filth
Rain down
Superstar alimony
Millionaire child support
For drafted actors and actresses
The kings and queens of canoodling
Hard rock goners
South beach marauders
Lottery winners
Drowning in accolades
It can happen that fast
The supermarket
Is the heart of commerce
Many folk write letters and e-mails
Of support and diligently
Follow the sitcoms
And reality shows
Notes From Abroad During Hurricane Season
they're sleeping on their roofs
to get out of the water
a couple of lean months
at least
half a world away
and "The Return of the Sequels"
ever myopic
held in thrall by
failed applications
character assassinations
faked celebrity weddings
a puppet government
fallen to insurgents
the hatchet man in another country
living off the rented time
of soldiers and pollsters
it seems anything but real from here
all the worlds a gas
when your home's washed away
and you haven't the wages to rebuild
at least the weather's pleasant there most of the time
meanwhile
we maintain radio silence
we watch the damage in advance
the hurricane's path
in the space of a single day
via satellite
several thousand swept out to sea
failed by geography
tropical out-ports
the men and women
a generation now disappeared
from the edge of the world
beyond the verges
of anything we know
or would care to watch
for longer than ten consecutive minutes