in the tree top
when the wind blows
the cradle will rock
when the bough breaks
the cradle will fall
down will come baby . . .
I’m calling out the monsters. Let’s name spades spades.
Monsters are not green or purple. Monsters have skin-colored skin: beige, ruddy, brown, olive, gold.
There are monsters of privilege and compartmentalized investment opportunities. These monsters live in gated communities or small islands. They have good health care — what, don’t you? — and perfect teeth & they only eat organic kibble. They wash and recycle their zip lock baggies. The drying rack’s shored up on an air conditioned counter next to shade grown coffee bag flown a thousand miles from the grind of Reality.
The monsters of privilege are well educated. These monsters have good muscle tone. These monsters make small sacrifices & mouth holistic living. These monsters practice feng shui. These monsters are really a-scared of you & me.
And there are the monsters of assured ignorance & monsters of opportunity, the serial killing mercenaries memorialized with state holidays & veterans pensions.
(venerated family members)
(sacred cow monsters)
There are monsters of convenience. They drive their SUVs down the road past peak oil & Exxon-Mobile ill. Set mind cruise speed. Prozac heart at McEase. (Material disease ain’t symptom free.)
These fuel eating monsters believe the corn crop, the sugar crop, corporate science sanctions all this pleasure whilst the lungs of the planet-burn furever & evermore. Unpaid slavery labors US Grade A corn fed leisure. Ain’t no clean green for these mad cows.
And there are monsters like you & me, creeps who eat the beef of seven planets without much grief, common theifs of the brief.
Someone smarter than us will make it all better, alright? Good night, sleep tight, we bite. Monsters have appetites like black holes.