Their Love Was Like The Mueller Report

Their Love Was Like The Mueller Report


Their love was like the Mueller Report

Eagerly anticipated by all the united states of us that needed to believe
In such things, that in this shit horror world
We’ve been torn into, there exists at least something
That can save us

Something that can manage to make it through
Half an hour without hate-tweeting its tiny cock-guts out
All over everything’s heart strings

Something that won’t just AR-15
The collective humanity for what’s left of empathy
And the final season of Bewitched, which is

Hung up in the back room right now
Doin’ it from behind consensually humping
Those first two or three decent episodes of Lost
in less terrible days
before today’s future had caught up with us
Where the sun sets like a mess

Dear Freckles,
Was that too much to ask for?

A satisfying completion
An antidote to everything that’s trying to break us apart
The obvious answer is: absolutely

Of course it was
Silly chum bucket
Trix, they’re for kids and the post-kids under the new regime

The world is run by all the things that run us over
Crap Helen, at this point
Even our old childhood breakfast cereals have fucked us over

The property taxes on Count Chocula’s castle
Those payments are sponsored by Diabetes
Frankenberry sold his soul to the corporate devil
Behind an oblong roulette table in the 1970’s
Because he was broke again and
For the simple drunk at the time wish,
Lonely and screaming, I guess I’d like to be the same color as nipples!

Granted, said the Immortal Asshole that owns the last Koch brother
That goddamn frog that peddled Sugar Smacks never stood a chance
After that

Even Captain Crunch eventually accepts the soggy
And let us down

Justice is just a punch line, and

Their love was like the Mueller Report
Redacted to the point of compromised genitals
And sticky fingerprints
Left behind by oblivion
And the bleak knowledge
That the bastards have gotten away with it

There were three things now, Gitch could always count on
Helen was leaving until she left him
The insatiable destructive appetite of the oligarchy
And Death

These things, they were facts
Planted in a world that had grown fond of nuking such things

Because facts are exhausting,
and hurricanes aren’t the only brand new things that can be solved
by nuking because if they figure they can nuke a hurricane
then they’ll eventually figure all the other negative effects of climate change
must be totally nukable too, so that’s what they’ll do

They’ll nuke climate change, and Iran,
and CNN and then Michelle Obama’s new book deal, unabridged pronouns,
and then the NFL……..
And if all that nuking brings on the apocalypse
well then fuck it, they’ll just nuke the apocalypse too

Win! Win! Win!

Their love was like the Mueller report
and the current iteration of Conservatism
is now unconsolably fact checked by Death

Still, Gitch thought
When the death of our love comes
I was pretty sure we could figure out a way to exalt things, maybe
While also remaining wise to the fact
That optimism is a Loch Ness Monster in tight pants
And Death will always be Death


Trump’s already changed the earth forever
In the worst optional ways
And the rich are going to keep doing crap things
In order to make themselves richer
But Death, well maybe we can pretend
The inevitable is slightly more reasonable, something
We can push off towards the back row
For as long as we can

When it comes:

Perhaps Death will have other things to do that day
Romance can’t hide forever
Old memes hooking up with retired landlines
Mothra, falling asleep on Godzilla
Exhaustion is a hot pillow in September
There was rain last night, and then it went away
Helen loved the rain, or maybe that was just Gitch
Every day unfolds like a broken iron
Umbrellas only hate their jobs when it’s raining
So long mud puddles, or whatever we mis

Gitch thought about this for a while,
as the mushroom clouds threw on their last game face
and the whisky ducted but did not over

Gitch thought about this for awhile
And then he wrote an almost optimistic acrostick called Purple

Pin me like a butterfly with paperback wings
Unbuckle that backpack
Rules were meant to be stolen, a
Pacifist fighting
Like hell with their own zipper until
Everything’s won




—Written for last week’s FBomb, Mercury Cafe, Denver CO

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