Bugs

be

fucking in your walls and fucking in the air
and fucking on your bed and fucking in your chair
and fucking in your clothes and fucking in the shadows
fucking in your garbage, fucking right beneath your nose

and before you know there’s a problem,
you’re surrounded
by eggs, eggs, eggs.

But do they not have some right to be?
Is it not a dirty home
that first invites them in?
They come thirsting for your blood
and you know
they’d drink you dry if they were big enough.

Because unfortunately,
some of them are…

the ones fucking with our laws and fucking with your rights
and fucking with our money and ignoring all your plights
and stripping ‘way your freedoms, and denying dignity
as they consume every power with reckless impunity.

You think no one could vote for this, but you’ll be surprised
when they mobilize the tired and the disenfranchised,
people who might have only one contentious view
doubling down when crossing swords with your own hateful few.

Then an impossible November unfolds:
you’re outnumbered
seventy-five million to seventy.

But how did they get so strong?
A lot of them are good people
grown weary of broadstroke insults.
If we could find a way
to meet needs in the middle
the real infestation could then be exposed.

It won’t be by pointing fingers.
Nothing’s gained by being a dick,
but for the sake of this nation
that still has so much to offer,
someone’s got to take the lead
and start cleaning this goddamn house.