My Brothers and Sisters

To the young and disillusioned,
the lied to and hurt,
but too apathetic
to rise from the dirt:

To my brothers and sisters,
every one of them strangers who
I know I should love but
so far only rage at:

Did you really think that 'nothing' was the most you could do?
Did you think that when they told you what you were, it was true?
I'm sorry. I should have tried to wake you up.
I'm sorry, but you're drinking from an empty cup.

To anyone who bought hope,
To anyone who cries Peace
from cafes and keyboards
but never from the streets:

And to anyone too stupid with happiness,
too fat with their confidence,
too proud of a nation teaching war to our innocents
to make use of your common sense:

And to the millions who are just like me,
with eyes wide open and a mind to see,
frozen and silent and choking on censure,
too scared to give the boat a rock, to start an adventure:

Do you really think that 'nothing' is the most you can do?
Do you think that when they tell you what you are, that it's true?
Or are you here, awake, aware, listening?
Pissed, crouched and silent, dangerous, waiting?

Que Sera, Sera, they said.
(fuck that)

[this is a second draft, not done yet]

Tito's Handmade, and Orange Juice

The least miserable 7am of my life began with an ounce of vodka. Not because I wanted to be drunk. That’s a little extreme. I wanted to be asleep, but I’d drunk water from a plastic bottle that tasted a little funny, and I couldn’t help but imagine squirming, microscopic parasites entering my system. The only thing I could think to do was to toxify the biosphere. The body does it naturally via fever. The hope was that the 80 proof liquor would kill whatever had hit my unprepared stomach that early morning, and the ensuing drunk would put enough alcohol in my blood to remove anything that might have managed to wriggle through my stomach lining.

I fell asleep, drunk, laughing.

We were trying to earn Destiny Points, and apparently driving on the wrong side of the road and dodging oncoming traffic was +30 Dp. We started shooting double cheeseburgers.

I walked into a McDonald’s and asked the woman at the counter how much it would cost just for a patty. Just the meat.

“I’ll trade you food for work,” she said to me.

“Sorry?”

“I’ll give you food, if you do work here. I mean, if money’s the issue.”

“It sure is,” I said.

It wasn’t. I lied, but I was very curious about where this exchange would take us. Curiosity was the reason I even asked about the meat. I didn’t want it. I don’t eat the garbage they sell. I was just looking for some original interaction.

“Well I’ll be needing help on Wednesday and Friday. That’s next week, honey. When you manage a Mickey D’s you have to be thinking in next week. I guess you can empty garbage or clean the parking lot.”

I stared at her in a way that I thought might indicate that I was paying attention.

“Oh, I could probably use you on Wednesday last week. Well, no, I guess that would be this week. Sorry. I’m stuck in next week. I manage a Mickey D’s, you know.”

“Ma’am,” I said, “what about for now? I’m awful hungry.”

She bustled away and brought back a tray with food. A milkshake, one of those cardboard boxes they put a Big Mac in. Some fries.

“Thanks,” I said. “But I really only wanted the meat. McDonald’s sure serves a quality product.”

When I opened the cardboard box they put Big Macs in I discovered some kind of thickly dressed salad with chunks of suspicious looking, I guess it would be called Ham, but which might have been Hobo. I just wanted a patty. I decided I was done here, took my shake, and made my way to the counter.

The microphone. They call orders out on this think, and it always sounds horrible.

I started singing Wake Up into the microphone, drunk, sleepy voice cracking, off key, triumphant. I slipped out the door before anyone behind the counter realized that I was misusing company property.

A man in a pick up truck was on a cell phone. I was crossing the street and apparently he was waiting for me to figure out whether I wanted to go around or through the alley. He was making jerking, emphatically rude gestures at me, so I threw the spoon that was in my milkshake at him. It stuck to his window, and I started running. He was shouting into his cell phone now, trying to chase me.

Sometimes when I need to run really fast, I dig my fingers into the ground my claws and pull myself forward.

I was moving. Oh, I was booking. I hit those tight corners and jumped those fences so fast the man in the pick up gave up on chasing me. But the men he had called didn’t. I guess he was some kind of big shot with whom one aught not trifle.

They were fast. Oh, they were booking, so I had to dig my fingers into the gravel and launch myself forward. I’ll cut through the park. Over the fence. Through the metal carousel style gates. Over more fences.

I was climbing. Oh, I was flying, but they would not be left behind. Enthusiastic underlings are troublesome, and these ones looked mean.

They were right behind me. My heart was pounding too hard for me to stay asleep any longer.

I like to think I got away, but it might be that I just can’t remember the part where I got caught.

DP+ 300. Daily challenge met.