Ron. Lavalette


Oily America swims in a red sea
while we sleep. In the morning, the news
is grim; is no news, really; is only more
of what we have come to expect:
the buffed and baritone correspondent,
straight faced, numbly earnest
telling us Jim, the news death tonight death
from death this death city is
death is all around us and we fear fear
we miss our mothers and everywhere we look
is blood and destruction, Jim,
and that's about the sum of it
from here in deathville;
back to you in the studio. Jim?
and Jim goes right on reading
the market reports and the weather
and the story about the farmer
who raised a gigantic potato
as smart as the President but
kinder and gentler; and all about
the elections and campaigns
all across America to have Jesus
back in the classroom, Christ
returned to Christmas, churches
to be the agency for insuring the poor,
and so on and so forth until, finally,
finally, finally hot young Jessica's tits appear
at halftime, the cheerleaders take the field
and all's right with the world again,
praise the lord.

Ron. Lavalette lives in the Northeast Kingdom region of Vermont, barely a snowball’s throw from the Canadian border. His poetry has appeared in dozens of print journals, including The Anthology of New England Writers, The Comstock Review, Lynx Eye, Maelstrom, Pine Island Journal, and Raintown Review, among others; his work has also appeared in pixel form at Able Muse, Conspire, Crescent Moon Journal, MiPo, and Wicked Alice, and many other online venues.

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