Methane

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You asked me last night how I deal
with the pressure, where I go to vent,
unload
all the political baggage I take
in throughout the week.

My answer tonight was that if I stay
in poetry, imbibe
literature, all the diatribe just becomes
gas, a methane flame off the landfill
of my brain.

I’m reminded of the news — released
by the previous regime — that cow’s flatulence,
the methane emitted by incontinent bovines
is one of our greatest sources of greenhouse gasses.

A perfect metaphor, I think,
for all political rhetoric lately —
bovine gas on both sides of the aisle.