Smokey The Bear Is An Asshole

First grade, Fire Safety Week. We make construction paper fire trucks. Mine rules. I know this. I am the Picasso Pollock Van Gogh of wheels and ladders. My fire truck so good it is written by Stan Lee, inked by Jack Kirby. It is a goddamn collectors’ item. Prizes given out. Someone must have misplaced mine. Teacher must have been drunk, must have been blind. Teacher needs art appreciation. Needs to take genius classes. Bell rings, we line up, busses line up. Bus doors open, we start to board. Stacy stands in front of me. Stacy drops something from her bag. Smokey The Bear. Plastic mascot, fire prevention hero, movable arms. Same size as Mego Spider-Man. Smokey winks at me, smiles. I shout to Stacy, GOOD GOD WOMAN YOU ARE DROPPING WOODLAND CREATURES FROM YOUR SATCHEL, TAKE BACK THIS SEDUCTIVE URSINE REPLICA, ITS STEELY GAZE IS CORRUPTING ME, but no answer. No reply at all, Smokey The Bear grips my hand, whispers you’re with me now, ushers me onto the bus.

#6 – Five Poems – Rob Sturma

 
This week, Drunk in a Midnight Choir celebrates our One Year Anniversary! Since we launched on February 6, 2014, we’ve had the great privilege of publishing a whole lot of amazing work, from a wide array of talented contributors. All week, we’ll be catching you up on some highlights from the last year. Here we present to you the top ten most-read posts of the year, counting down from ten.

 

Antisocialist
                   for CM Punk

One day you went to take out the trash
and someone was waiting there for your autograph.
You’re a prick when you won’t take a picture with a fan
at an airport
at 2AM.

There was one thing you loved more than anything
And that was to be a punk rock wolverine
in somebody’s backyard and to be really good at something
that a lot of guys never learn how to do proper.

I am not mad at you for walking out on the action figure
and video game money.  You threw your body into so many
glass ceilings and came back early still nursing your wounds,
because they needed you and the pop you would bring
when the sound of static
and the first Vernon Reid guitar riff blared through the speakers.
 

Five Poems -Rob Sturma

Antisocialist
                   for CM Punk

One day you went to take out the trash
and someone was waiting there for your autograph.
You’re a prick when you won’t take a picture with a fan
at an airport
at 2AM.

There was one thing you loved more than anything
And that was to be a punk rock wolverine
in somebody’s backyard and to be really good at something
that a lot of guys never learn how to do proper.

I am not mad at you for walking out on the action figure
and video game money.  You threw your body into so many
glass ceilings and came back early still nursing your wounds,
because they needed you and the pop you would bring
when the sound of static
and the first Vernon Reid guitar riff blared through the speakers.

But you were never a fan of going through the motions
just because you needed to heal.    You looked around and saw
your opponent’s knees become fragile,  the men you traveled
down the road with begin to lose feeling in their arms when their necks
betrayed them.    It was impossible for you to be the body you were before
and all the changes you were told would be made were empty promises
couched in the anthem best for business.  

They could have at least come through on the ice cream bars.