I Don't Want To Be Great Again
Hey everyone I'm looking for a sandy beach to buy
where I can go stick my head in the sand for four looong years.
Really, I don't want to know what's going on in this world of bad news, bad news, bad news.
I don't want to buy a newspaper for a dime from the boy on the corner,
I don't want to sit around the old brown radio with the family and fiddle with the dial to see what we can hear,
I don't want to plop in front of the little black and white screened tv my parents won in a raffle,
I don't want to watch the serious men in suits puff on their cigs and recite the news,
I don't want the full screen colored version brought on all those cable channels either,
and finally I am not interested in scrolling through Google Land to see what's up with Orange Man and his friends.
Nope, I'm looking for a deserted beach to buy.
It will be named Camp Head in the Sand.
Thank you!
This will Make Me Great Again,
even though, really, I just want to be humble.
<Deleted User> (5011)
Thu 20th Mar 2025 18:07
If I could afford
to buy sand,
a beachful, say,
I'd get my little plastic spade,
and a lot of hessian sacks,
then slowly, carefully,
fill each with bits of beach.
To the top, so there is
no more room.
I'd fasten each one,
tight as a fighter's fist,
then the next, and
the next, until
I had a huge pile
of sacks of sand,
enough to stand
one
on
top
of
the
other.
I would put the first one
beside my front door,
and another
on top of the first,
and so on,
and on,
until you couldn't see
my house for sandbags,
except the door.
Once I'd stacked
the sacks,
I'd empty racks,
of the supermarkets:
loo roll, bread,
fruit, tinned beans,
and coffee
(finest Arabica) -
just the essentials.
When the time
comes - when the
fading sunset appears
to our West,
or the orange glow makes
an off-the-cuff remark -
I would stack the last few,
sand-filled, hessian sacks
in front of my door,
lock it, make myself
comfortable, and
wait for
the inevitable.