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(The poet just made the mistake of trying to catch up on a tiny bit of the five years of lost rest she has experienced around this endless predation, blythely ignored nationwide.

Of course, she was prevented, in this isolated and quiet lot, when he came within five feet of every side of her van, banging and clacking, for a full fifteen minutes, until she sat up again to entertain him by operating her hacked device, so he can see her sorrowful face, monitor her terminal heart rate (yay!)…

… and glory in his freedom to terrorize the helpless here in the Land of Justice for All.

So ~ what sort of poetry shall we publish, then? Hearts and roses? Upliftment? Enablement? 

Those things aren’t what the poet’s nation wants from her.

What it wants are reasons to point to her as radical and discredit her completely.

Prove me wrong.)

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Recorded Reading (3:44): https://www.dropbox.com/scl/fi/61c2tpppq23l598r28z9f/What-s-in-it-For-Me.wav?rlkey=pnw2w8l69vfmt2fk5pobgva51&dl=0

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“What’s In it for Me?”

You can catch a human’s int’rest
With a perfume or a stink,
You can wave your hand in front
And he will quite correctly blink,
To bottom line self-int’rest
You can lead him to the brink —
But one thing you can never do
Is make a human think

You want a Hominid to do
One thing or another?
All you have to do is show him
Someone looking like his brother,
Looking like to do this thing
Would be his fav’rite ‘druther —
That’s all you ever have to do,
Not a single other!

Even if he knows that image
Is unfactual
And of your own agenda you are
Clandestinely full
Of the unmentionable but
Quite standard pat of bull (Ow!)
Over his eyes, perfectly
Sure you’re trying to pull the wool ~

Even so! This simple image
Someone else is pointing to
With such a gleaming smile that
You can hardly bear such whiteness view
Will lead him like the fabled
Thirsty horse your water to —
(Though in this case you’ve figured out
How to make him drink it, too)

Do not appeal to higher
Inspiration, whatever you do ~
He cannot keep such lofty and
Practical principles in view
Nor any int’rest but
His petty short-term own pursue
No use informing him it’s helping
Him, or me, or you

Remember, he inhabits a
Shallow genetic pool
And came to this dark place to learn
In Ignorance the school ~
Needs to repeat over, over
Yet again the Golden Rule,
But bring it to the moment?
He forgets just like a fool

Remember that to make
A Hominid act’ually glad
He basically needs to think
It makes somebody else feel bad ~
And hasn’t even understood
That benefits are to be had
When not perpetually making
Everyone around him mad

Not scrambling to catch up
To his latest score of lies,
Not struggling to concoct
Halfway credible alibies,
Not worried about getting caught
Or someone “getting wise,”
Or ways he might his enemy
Unpleasantly surprise

Those are the thoughts which go around
By tend of thousands in his head
From the moment he climbs out,
To that he climbs back into, bed:
How to put the rest behind
Him; How to ‘get ahead’
Hominids will think about
From childhood until they are dead

Not, “Will it be enjoyable?”
Not, “Will it make us smile?”
Not, “Will it take a burden off
Of someone for a little while?”
But, “What way can I work it
Beneficially
To my selfish interests
— What’s in it for me?”

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This poet is physically disabled. Public housing being insufficient to her medical and creative needs, she is presently living, in order to continue working, in her minivan, publishing all of her works using one thumb on the touch screen of her smartphone, surviving at an income of a fraction of her nation’s poverty level. She would treasure any donation you might care to offer ~ http://www.UgiftABLE.com ● #72D-31S.

Please be aware that it takes several days for the poet to be notified of contributions. International patrons please contact the poet via email or post a comment for the necessary numbers.

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