“Two Sides"

  

c. 2026 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(1-26)

 

Two sides, in a perpetual war

Jockeying positions held for a purpose, untoward

Loyalties divided

Insiders dutifully duped and derided

As useful herds of livestock

Tick tick goes the clock

It is not hard to draw conclusions

When thinking has evolved into a suicide solution

A cocktail shaken, not stirred

With elements of ridiculosity, misheard

Chatter chatter, what’s the matter?

The yield of this paradigm is a flat-earth splatter

Gobsmacked and googly-eyed

Like mourners at a gravesite for heroes that died

Partisan rants

Flames shoot wildly, from their underpants

Preaching to the masses

Dissertations in university classes

A hold put upon the daylight

To keep everything teetering on a pinhead’s plight

A rube’s ruse in effect

With invisible investors to protect

They champion the cause, by another name

Of bowling balls lobbed, right down the lane

Crashing on the boards

Pins felled for a final reward

Combat trophies handed out with a sweet aroma of candy

Super-troopers duded up, fine and dandy

Their swords at the hilt

Guarding temples, righteously built

Of bricked, human waste

Dried and seeded with a salt-brine, for taste

This moment in history makes my knees knock together

Watching the march of soldiers in leather

Bootheels clicking, and kicking to the sky

That parade of pomposity brings a tear to my eye

For the republic which could not stand

Heads down, boys – strike up the band

It feels hotter than hades under the lights

A shining beacon of damnation and last rites

Though the duality of this deed

Tells me that I have been deceived

A continuity trick, from turning the page

Printed matter handed down from an earlier age

Black, white, and red flags fly

Those colors calm the populace with hues to deny

Nothing to see here

No one wants to be here

But the birthright of a ranch hand is sure

The bloodline preserved is inevitably pure

Thick as mud, and rainwater soup

Brimming with the consistency of melted ice cream in a scoop

Dribbling and dripping

While long-held principles are slipping

Away, away

Endure this clash of titans, like a garden-hose spray

In the end it comes down to luck

Letters missing from the side of a fire truck

Its hoses, knotted and tangled

Every thinker metaphorically looking for an angle

That will be repeated on the six o’clock news

A stomp of consternation, in wingtip shoes

Following the cadence of kettle drums banging

And the sound of falling triangles, clanging

A prayer said at church

With parishioners left in the lurch

Do not fear what they say

Or an eventual inheritance, on judgment day

Stuff the suggestion box

Change all the door locks

And go back to bed