Living Proof
How best to show I’m human, that I’m whole,
A walking, talking consciousness, a soul
And spirit set to scale divinest heights?
Oh, right: Click all the squares with traffic lights.
Parts Unknown
(Or, Every Mechanic’s Estimate)
Your discombobulator sprang a leak
That rusted out the manitorken springs,
Which cracked the carbomatic where it’s weak
And warped the hydropaniformic slings.
This made your floriturbometric struts
Drop down and block the posipinrod flow,
And that stripped out the keratonic nuts;
These hold the transcominions from below.
I think that while the comprostater’s out,
Your camterfusion gear should be replaced—
It’s disconnected from the spintergout,
So all your pneumocandoms need respaced.
The camaforic fluid’s very gray,
Which points to deficlusion in the base.
And though your hemispanic looks okay
I recommend a new one just in case.
It’s A Business Doing Pleasure with You
“Rupert Murdoch reportedly divorced Jerry Hall by email”
—The Guardian
The subject line Re: marriage, then
The body reads, “Dear Jerry:
Conditions/terms were stated when
We both agreed to marry.
This union was performance-based,
Yet came to no fruition,
So now I choose to move in haste
And phase out your position.
Your contract I shall not renew,
Effective date next Monday.
We’ll skip the exit interview;
Please clear your desk by Sunday.
I’ll gladly recommend you, dear—
You’re pleasant, bright, and pretty—
But first you’ll have to sign off here.
(Attorneys, New York City).”
Progressive Glen
Our suburb’s new and squeaky clean,
The whitest place I’ve ever seen—
The houses here, I mean to say,
For color-blindness is our way:
Progressive Glen’s one neighborhood
Where folk all talk the talk they should.
We meet each Monday, half-past three,
To hold forth on diversity,
Although (for reasons we don’t know)
Caucasians only seem to show.
Minorities live here, you bet;
We’ve simply never seen one yet.
I’d like to make this very clear:
On poverty, we’re quite sincere.
We own life’s tough in every way
For those who labor every day.
We need cheap housing—that’s not hard—
Just not right here in our back yard.
In education, we insist
Upon a comprehensive list:
Humanities—so much to learn!
Plus biz and STEM—so much to earn!
Those charter kids are right-wing tools,
While ours all go to private schools.
Is privilege real? Alas, my friend,
We fear it might not ever end,
So even though we do lament
Our own, we’ve learned to be content.
Utopia may come; till then,
We’ll see you at Progressive Glen.
All the Noise
We can stay up as late as we’re able,
We can make all the noise that we choose,
Watch whatever we want to on cable,
Eat and drink lots of junk food and booze.
No example to set! We can slack now,
Live the way we remember, my dear.
Every freedom we had once is back now,
And I sure wish the kids were still here.
I Tried
I tried to be a guru but the hours were too long
With meditation, prayers, and mindful thinking.
The money and the groupie girls were great, don’t get me wrong,
But then they said I’d have to give up drinking.
I tried to be an idler but the labor was too much;
Each day the odds of my success diminished.
With this and that and how and why and when and where and such,
I never really knew when I was finished.
I tried to be a thinker, next a painter, then a bard
(My lack of any talent notwithstanding).
It wasn’t that the work, per se, was really all that hard,
But self-promotion proved much too demanding.
I tried to be a dreamer but the dream just wouldn’t call;
I never found that land of milk and honey.
Imagine no possessions, it’s not hard to do at all
Said someone with a pocketful of money.
I tried to be a critic, with an arbitrary pen
Dispensing deadly darts of fiery censure,
But being judge and jury left me jaded in the end
And robbed me of the taste for that adventure.
I tried to be myself at last; so far it’s going well.
I play the role with pride yet self-effacement.
I hope the show goes on for years, though you can never tell—
Tomorrow they might send in my replacement.
Ignorance Is Bliss
“Feeling at home? New app lets US homebuyers see neighbors’ politics”
—The Guardian
The couple to our left is to our Right,
And now we barely sleep a wink at night.
We wonder: are they equally bereft
To learn we’re on their right but on their Left?
Unforgettable
Each night I lie awake and think
On decades worth of errors made:
Those times I failed to make the grade
Or maybe had too much to drink
And said what I should not have said
And did what I should not have done—
I catalog them, one by one,
Although my weary, aching head
Implores me stop and rest awhile.
There’s bound to be a heavy cost
For all the sleep I’ll soon have lost,
But agonizing’s more my style.
Why did I purchase for my home
This mattress made of memory foam?
Losing My Religion(s)
I make a bad Buddhist, I know—
I aim to be better and still
Despite all my trying
Mosquitos come flying,
And I go right in for the kill.
I make a bad Hindu, I know—
I’m all for nirvana and bliss,
But I’ll be frustrated
If reincarnated
To live again lower than this.
I make a bad Muslim, I know—
I so love both bacon and beer,
And travel to Mecca
Would leave me a wreck, a
Most pitiful pilgrim, I fear.
I make a bad Christian, I know—
I struggle with mercy and grace,
And, like the disciples,
I’m hung up on trifles
And miss what’s in front of my face.
I make a bad pagan, I know—
Though Earth I do long to protect,
It’s unrealistic
To be pantheistic
And therefore I don’t genuflect.
I make a bad Buddhist, I know—
I’ve been awfully patient somehow
But frankly, Gautama,
I’m done with the drama—
I want my enlightenment now!
“Unforgettable” first appeared in Steven Kent’s collection Home at Last (2025)