See Spot watch Jane. Jane is unconscious. See Mr. Spot check Jane out.

See Spot sniff Jane’s face, then move down to Jane’s crotch.
See Mr. Spot throw his head up and howl.
Poor Mr. Spot is grieving. He smells Jane.

See Dick come running. Dick is now working and he has brought whiskey.
See Dick pour whiskey on Jane.
Jane had tripped, broken off one tit, and been ass-fucked by Dick earlier that day before he had
to report for duty as a cop.

See Spot start licking Jane’s face for the whiskey.
See Jane wake up to a brand new day.
See Mr. Spot take a leak on Jane. Hear Dick say, ‘Good boy, Mr. Spot.’

See Dick arrest Jane for lewd behavior and public intoxication.

See Dick watch Spot run away as Dick sings, ‘Jingle Ball, Jingle Ball..’

Watch Dick get a promotion. See Jane go to jail.

So much for that fucking going up a hill to fetch a pail of bullshit.

See Dick start singing, ‘We are the World, we are the People’ and get hit in the head by a boot stolen
from an old lady and thrown by some angry poet.

White trash Ordinary Day for everyone!

©Dean J. Baker

-excerpt from Tormenting The Monkey, 214 pages, $16.99   No sacred cows in this long-awaited and in demand collection of satiric meditations on everything and anyone from politics, family, social issues, cultural and individual misconceptions…being that the ‘monkey’ loves to torment itself with things it already knows and enjoys the disconnect between what it knows and refuses to learn.

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Oh So Contemporary… from THE POETRY HOTEL









Your poetry isn’t. No meter, no rhyme
no insights; not attributable to suppurating
bursts of resentment, and I’m.
Metaphor described, not given: shriven of
lines that would elicit the result denied.

Attitudes posed, pictures taken defied;
nothing new or nude: nothing a truth
belied by experience revealed without count.

Literary pimps from publishing houses,
arts councils, money given pile in:
reviews mount up, while literature slowly dies.

©Dean J. Baker

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