You asked me last night how I deal
with the pressure, where I go to vent,
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.