Poem: Atypical

I don’t follow
Typical trajectories
My spitting image
Runs young
While I’m chasing in my latter years

Old age doesn’t turn you into a sage
But it doesn’t hurt
If you’ve learnt
Lessons you
Should’ve
Bridges burnt
Staying current

Worms wriggle
Toes tingle
Quarks jingle
Bongs jiggle

Get me right up
Up to speed
I’m hearing my inner need
Or is that greed?

Not yet over the hill
But slowly descending
The slope
Filled with hope

Swatting not settling
Advancing not regressing
Incanting not forsaking blessings

Baraka to you
And birds flipped to the
Bad guys
Bullies will see our
Fists of fury
Fly in the night sky

Make it
Before you’re butt naked
Then wrapped
In funeral garb
End of life swaddling clothes
From cradle to grave
End of the road

The days are limited
The minutes precious
We’ll see what the auction fetches
I betcha
More than you bargained for
Minus the gore
Holy, what’s in store?

Sun’s out guns shout
Filling the morning space
Grappling for attention
Grasping for
Air to breathe

I wonder then I wander
To whom today $hall I pander?
Orangutans, Arctic wolves or pandas?
Or Mother Nature’s gorillas?
Adrenaline junkiess’ thrillas?
Gentry folk carbon-methane pushas?

Muchas gracias, senoritas
I’m betting on my bambinos
F* your snow wash casinos
Realty, street rods and fentanyl
Wiping the slate of our low income
Shelling out less on welfare
While you’re taxed less than
Royal derrieres

Making money from slaughter
First my sons then my daughters
Messing with the electoral
Hacking your way into my bank account
And financial HQ
Swapping intel with your sang bleu

My nom de plume is a guerriere
Smell some blood then
Observe my air carrier
As I zip off in my dreams
Into the sunset
Of conspiratorial schemes

Don’t underestimate the
Working class
We’ll be back, Jack
To kick not kiss
Your ass

~ Gunnar Våken