Order's Up

Memorial Day 2022 Poem

Purpose is peripherally blind

swallowing planets whole

on Justice's smoke break

where there's a happy hour                                              

the rest are busy cleaning toilets

scrubbing ontology from under the rim

under the dim

a lot of wisdom applies for the job

advertised on the front of a consequence

no wonder the service is exceptionally fascist

and takeout's almost encouraged

over a bar made from holding-cell benches

it's half-past sin

and I'm still waiting on my plate

of resurrection to be served chilled

so I can wash it down

with the worst kinda blasphemy

mixed with my best hypocrisy

taken; not earned

but the only tips I'm giving are the ones I haven't learned

on an alley-way conveyor belt

piecing anarchies together one part at a time

otherwise they're wagered against my ponder

at how many games are gonna be watched

waiting to see if liberalism ever actually scores

the jukebox keeps playing in tune with the past

no amount of quarters will allow you to skip the tracks

to a parking lot ballad of bruised success

as if on cue, one's bank heads directly into the corner's pocket

and on every rack the 8-ball's color is changing

to match the intention of the winning stick

the minutes keep clocking out by the second

so as soon as the moon's engulfed

there'll be plenty of epistemology flushed down the drain

last calls for alcohol are communions for the destitute

take a seat, 'cause the guys rushing to the front

run the risk of tripping into a eulogy cover

or inner-city linked bracelets

maybe both

I've been waiting on my dish since exactly 8 happy hour ago

and I agreed to refuse it's due to the extinction of common sense

or that I demand service from any cliche... like a prophet

or that my waiter's break has persisted further than election day

a wait this long is gum stuck to the bottom of your dreams

while some jukeboxes just seem to get stuck on repeat

and the 8-ball keeps jumping back on the table

before you can walk away

if it gets shaky, keep enough applications to shove under the leg

and hope this season ain't really started yet, so you can beat it

before those other tragedies start placing their bets

see I'm not looking for the whole lot; just a space

or even a spot by the exit door, hoping next to it

an apron lays on the floor... a ticket within

says, "resurrection to go" folded on top of the last two cigarettes turned up in the box