I've had the radish, beets, the whole rootbang.
Herewith, I hand in my resignation
from the human race.
The disappointments and offenses
far outweigh the cards and flowers.
Fathers run off to money or war, or lust,
and mothers monitor their hair, earrings, and nails.
Every act of charity is a condemnation of
the Gypsy caravan called "economics."
Rich women donate their shoes, unworn,
with the mysterious comings of style change.
Christmas gifts of clothing go to the steel bins
for spring revival and closet space.
The human cluster is periodically renovated
with dramatic protests regarding a need
for greater justice from fools elected by idiots.
But the contrived hierarchy of masters and slaves
is barely disguised and clear to the discerning eye
of anyone with an IQ above moron.
The record of evidence in my complaint
will show that the careless monkeys
who look in a mirror and see gods
do not learn from experience.
Being a loyal member of this
suicide club called "humanity"
has lost all values.
Why swim in a lake that is being drained?
I renounce my membership in the human association.
Being certified human has been a trivial
guarantee for most who get
caught breaking the same rules that
were broken yesterday by judge and jury
and the children who judge all.
I just don't see any benefit, pride or
protection in being human.
The animals of the forest and meadow
possess greater dignity, reasonable lives.
Even in the neat suburbs the best cuts
of meat get burnt on the grill. Everyone is lying,
and the buzzing insects are better equipped
for the nuclear war not being planned
but sure to come.
Someone will deliver a fusion bomb that
kills fifty million people to prove
that they love God.
God, rather saddened by the scope of his failure,
will cry out in anguish.
I hope to be very far away,
ready when I am accused.
"You! You crazy son-of-a bitch.
You are one of those humans, are you not?"
"What? Me? No. Never. No way.
I dropped out. Deserted. Escaped."
The priests, the scholars, the courts,
all insist that I have free will
and I am accountable for my behavior.
I accept full responsibility for my departure.
"Goodbye, good luck, go to hell."
The outcome of humanity is beyond metaphor.
Bang, whimper, fizzle, giggle, space cold silence.
Absolute silence forevermore.
"Mr. Manimas, would you reconsider?
We're having a special on prime rib this week."
John R. Manimas, March, 2022
Back to: (Poems) by John Manimas or (Very Short) Stories or (Time Works) or (Quick Directory) or (Welcome) page