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How to Survive Nuclear Attack
Useful tips for surviving nuclear attack, dirty bombs, or suitcase nukes.

 
   
 
  American Hiroshima
Tsunami
Earthquake
Tornado
Hurricane
School Shooting
Volcano
Asteroid
Nuclear Winter
Bird Flu - Avian Influenza
Nuclear Attack
Honeybee Extinction
Wildfire
The Last Days



by





looking for my kind of people

fat girls
need not apply

nor skinny
bucktoothed boys
who masturbate
while reading historical
romance novels

nor krinkly, wrinkly
old people,
drooly-chinned
babies
with foul smelling
diapers
or bankers
who count their money
in a dark little room
at midnight no judges, no fire chiefs,
no social workers,
no grocery store clerks,
barbers, bakers
or used car salesmen

if there are any candlestick makers
still around, none of them either

no blondes
with dimples
and no swarthy skinned
men with mustaches

no baldheaded men
with beards
nor women
with brittle hair
piled higher than
six and one half inches

none too short
and none too tall
none too large
and none too small

no men in tangerine
bermuda shorts
and no women
in pedal pushers
(any color)

no arabs, blacks,
wops or jews

no russians, maldavians,
limeys, frogs, krauts,
poles, czechs, hunkies,
greeks, swedes,
irish sots
or tight-fisted scots

they just need not apply

and no chinamen either,
and none of their oriental cousins,
whatever they’re called

(they all
look the same to me
anyway)

no africans
no egyptians
and dam sure no
syrians

no mexicans
peruvians, chilians,
panamanians,
argentinians,
and canadians, too

and kansans, californians,
new yorkers, nevadans,
or any of the rest

all of them just need not apply
all that riffraff
just need not apply
cause now we’re getting down
to the right kind of people

the good people
who should (fuck the
meek and all the rest)
inherit the earth

cause now we’re getting down
to the good people

to my kind of people

me

and you…

maybe


Introducing Luny

Luny says,

          Hit’s a big sombitch,
          ain’t hit.

and I nod,
because it really is very, very large.

          Seen one like hit onct in Tupulo.

He scratches and spits and scratches again.

          Hit was almost as big as this,
          but not quite.

He takes off his hat and wipes sweat from his head.

          Black, too,
          just like this one.

We circle it, in opposite directions.
me at distance, intimidated
as any normal person would be.

But not Luny.

Luny doesn’t give a damn,
he just wants to look.
He walks right up to it, sticks
his face right up to it,
pokes at it with his finger,

          Lookeehere, you ever seen sucha thing?

And I look at Luny, climbing
over all the wonders of the world, sticking
his fingers into every crack in the universal order
of things as they should and always will be, saying,

          Well, wouldja look at that!

then moving on to the next curiosity to grab
a hold of his always hungry hillbilly mind.

And I think, nope, I never did see such a thing.


in the news: Southern Baptists urge cure for homosexuality

Vivaldi from the speakers overhead,
a good way to start the day,
music alive with the morning,
a corner table to catch the sun
and a cup of rich Costa Rican blend
to help me focus on the latest news

the regulars are here,
and three I haven’t seen before,
a middle-aged man in a dark suit,
red tie on sky-blue shirt,
black loafers shinned to a gloss,
trying to sell something
to two young women, girls, really,
mid-twenties at most

the girls are a couple,
obvious from the way they sit together,
from the way they look at each other,
the way they touch, hands brushing,
lingering, as they reach for their coffee cups

an unmatched pair, one tall and thin,
with a large open smile, a cheerleader smile,
an in-charge smile, like the drum major
leading the parade down main street,
a real firecracker-fourth American beauty

the other, voluptuous, with a dark latin look,
high cheekbones, ebony hair drawn back,
la charra girl on a great white horse, prancing,
a proud look, a look of influence and privilege
from the days when the Spanish king ruled here,
another kind, an earlier kind, of American beauty

both of them listening closely to the salesman,
investments, insurance, whatever he’s selling
that couples buy for a life together, whatever
lovers buy as they meld two lives to one,
as they set aside the singularity of lives alone
finding a cure for the isolation of lives lived apart







ABOUT THE AUTHOR

"I'm 60 years old and I live in San Antonio,Texas. I'm 6 feet tall and I weigh 255 pounds. I used to be taller, thinner and younger but was transformed along the way by life and an excessive love of pecan pie. I published a couple of poems in the late 60's-early 70's, then quit writing (except for business writing) for nearly 30 years, as career and family took up most of my time and creative energies. I began writing again when I retired a couple of years ago.

Since then my poems have been published in a number of on-line and print literary journals, including The Melic Review, Poems Niederngasse, The Muse Apprentice, Alchemy, The ShallowEnd, AvantGarde Times, The Poet's Canvas, Dynamic Patterns, Eclectica, The Green Tricycle, Nectarzine, Experimentia, Planet Magazine, The Horsethief's Review, Maelstrom, Tryst, Taj Mahal Review, Blaze/VOX, Beatnik, Liquid Muse and others."

Contact the author here.




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