You’re dozing off
when he comes on.
Well hell, he says,
it’s my country
and I can tell it, tell it tellit………..
his voice cracks like a cheap bell,
the clang,
the awful racket
clinking
into the utmost annoyance of your soul

Please, you ask, where are the ear plugs?
Shut him up.  PLease, let
the land forget what the land knows.
Let’s run away from his loaded bowl 
of infinite crap,
his clamor,  his stench hoisted
like the flag

of death.
Yet the end game goes on and on and on,
you want to turn it off, turn it off Forever and
let him spiral down into nothingness,
then:
the calm the love the hate the calm the calm


(The last line is from Samuel Beckett’s
bon bon il est un pays)