smoke if you got ‘em

while corporate bullies
shake hands with cruel
children in designer suits
I type poems that drink
beer with me and listen
to punk rock at night

while new enemies are
designed, punished by poverty
I type poems that throw
rocks at tanks and burn
cities to the ground

while our sadness is rendered
despicable and the world becomes
a turd we can’t flush
this poem lights a smoke
choosing the rules it will obey
as some poor bastard
finds it in his heart to
pray for me