Comfort Zone

July 13, 2025

I've never really written a poem before, other than doing an assignment for school. Two days ago, my son emerged from the basement with something he had penned when inspiration floated his way. It's funny how it works...the whole inspiration thing. It just comes. It appears in your brain and you grab the closest piece of paper and you jot it down. A thought, an idea, a story, a plot line to a major motion picture! Or in this case, a poem. Crazy thing is, it happened to me today. I don't write poetry, but it happened. I don't know if it's any good, but I thought it sounded nice, so I am going out of the comfort zone, and am going to share...

Juan and Marie

When the fruit dies on the vine,

when the carcass decomposes on the line,

when your kids sit at home and watch themselves,

when the grass is eight inches high...

when the pool is cloudy and green and you don't know why,

when your garbage begins to collect on the street,

when the dust bunnies begin to congregate and meet,

we scratch our heads and ask why?

The steak you ordered an hour ago still hasn't arrived at your seat,

it's okay, red meat is now too expensive to eat!

The snifters of brandy are still being swirled,

the tee times are a plenty,

and the cigars are imported from the other side of the world.

We the people struggle to make ends meet,

our neighbors Juan and Marie just got deported by those ICE creeps.

What did they do?

We're not quite sure,

that's for a Venezuelan judge to confirm.

Murder, rape, armed robbery?

Nope, just doing all the jobs nobody wants anymore.

Looks like white trash Americans can work again!

As long as those checks keep coming in from Uncle Sam.

Wait, No? The hell with that!

We don't want to do those jobs!

Would you please bring Juan and Marie back?

Would you, please, my dearest Uncle Sam?

The grass is eight inches long...

and I'll be damned if I'm going to mow it again!

Where the hell is that damned landscaper!?