We, the Chosen Leftovers
by Joseph Fulkerson
Wave upon wave of thick ash
and smoldering brick raining down
showering the navel gazers
and nexus glimpsers alike
I see the silhouette of a demigod
looking down with disdain on us peasants.
A pyromaniac’s wet dream,
liquid fire for the heathens
quantum breakup in the cosmos
the axis of evil has a rotating cast of characters
and we are the host country for the yearly festivities.
If you'll please direct your attention to the choir director
with the Sam's Club haircut, we can begin the show.
The preacher grabbed us while the music played
and took us to the back of the sanctuary.
He said with bloodshot eyes, if we didn't stop talking
he was going to bust our asses, plural.
We walked back to our seats
as he walked back to the front
he continued to worship his Lord and Savior,
while we re-evaluated our understanding of organized religion.
We all fall for something
it's a zero sum game we're playing now
no rest for the wicked, but the saints
are having the time of their lives aren't they?
In the end, Saddam Hussein was found cowering in a bunker
Where will you be when the world ends?
The Rapture will occur
and cause everyone’s clothes to fall off
like an aphrodisiac, and we'll be left with the hand-me-downs
meet me in the city square on the day of reckoning
I'll be the one with the trash bag full of clothes
dancing barefoot in the fountain.
Will the circle be unbroken?
The real question is will it become some other
shape in the process, or will it
have any discernable shape at all.
What if predestination is a lie
passed down to us from our ancestors
to keep us from asking too many questions?
we live, we die,
we fuck, we cry
and we struggle for what?
Mediocrity is really spelled C-O-N-F-O-R-M-I-T-Y
we're reading from the holy book: chapter 7,
starting with verse 3. The gospel according to whom?
God gave us this planet
and now he's trying to evict us,
but as tenants we have rights
he has to give us thirty days notice
before he unleashes the Beast
and hastens the apocalypse.
Joseph Fulkerson is an aspiring writer of poetry and haiku. His influences include Charles Bukowski, Kerouac, Hunter S. Thompson and Jack White. He is currently working as an electrician in Owensboro, Kentucky.