Family Circus Regurgitated

Bring your clothes, they said. Your new suits

and make-up which will make them see.

You know, the ones; the ones who "matter" the

only ones who see and say like Simon.

They are robots but they don't know it. We

do but we won't say it...If we do we die and

melt with the steel;  the broken ones who

no one sees; no one cares. But because

we were raised by wolves

we pretend we don't care.

So. we bring our shiny suits and smiles;

our perfect mates with no guile. We will

smile in your country clubs and your marriages.

You know we are there and you like our tricks; it

makes for fodder on Etv, but we won't be there

with OUR families in suits or you will openly dump us

near the country fence. Whether tied or berated,

crucified on a ragged fence, you will still say, "Well

he shouldn't have said, "I love his horse sense.

I love the way he sees my face."

You will look underneath your nasty, dirty skirt and find a way

to justify your feeling of being safe. And when we die

by the hand you gave the knife

either by voice or the sanctified, fucking knife,

you will not recognize God's given grace; you'll only see

the rotten core of your rigid boring, judgmental life.