THIS AIN’T MY FATHER’S WRESTLING

All kinds of thoughts

enter my mind

as I watch ECW wrestling

on a Saturday night

and it gets scary

that home I’m at again

without prospects

for a better gig

while everyone else

enjoys the holiday weekend

down the shore

I get high alone

listening to various music

from around the country

and all over the world

my discourse on production

has been laughed off the shelves

by the general public

seems I’ve fooled

just about nobody

and the quest

of adventure and excitement

is off line again

well, I’ll be out

at the arena again

hopefully real soon

and the production

of new work continues

to run smoothly

into the summer

hashish has its charm

as Turkish assassins

pay visit

on my consciousness

and the awareness

of my surroundings

hones in

on the announcer

making the call

this could be nothing

but the doctrines

are ignored

by the peoples

blood, sweet and beers

is enough inspiration

for the evening

and will lead us

into temptation

but obligations

are limited

and wholly warranted

the feverish intensity

of the matches

the fire ignited

in my consciousness

It’s out of control

and this ain’t

my father’s wrestling

any more than

it’s my mother’s poetry

the crowd chants obscenities

at the wrestlers

they like and dislike

in equal proportion

I sit and watch

as the drama unfolds

and this is where I am

after all these years

but at least a few weeks

promise more

and I take serious solace

at least at that

5-23-98

THIS AIN’T MY FATHER’S WRESTLING | PostPoems

Published by fuchebuyahoocom

poet, philosopher and comic. Philadelphia born but suburban bred.

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