Lenny Bruce, The Later Years: A Stuck Inside Poem, Day 4

Can you imagine running

out of weed during the apocalypse? 

Me neither. That sounds horrible.

There’s so much privilege in quarantining.

What does stay home mean

to someone who is homeless?

Does that just mean keep breathing?

Because outside is where their home is.

Even Sean Payton got the Rona.

Same as Idris Elba.

            We’re all alone out of respect.

            We are all tone deaf. 

We are all wondering if it’ll get better

before it gets worse. 

The president is the Christopher Columbus

of racial slurs. He discovers new ones

and denies their origins.

A real stable genius

that ballsack of a man is.

Did you read Hunter S. Thompson’s last book?

It was awful.  It was Lenny Bruce

reading the transcripts of his obscenity trial

in front of an audience who couldn’t give a shit

if you gave them up close and personal access

to their hero. Like Tik Tok but in real life.

Tone deaf but up close and angry

and hungry for mass affirmation. 

After this passes I’m gonna grab a stack

of bills that’s waiting to get current. 

I’m gonna wade in the current of Canal Street

and think people are too close to me.

Maybe this is all a fever dream

and neither the screams nor the shouts

coming from my neighbor’s house are not

directed at her three dogs.

Maybe she’s yelling at hell

to get back in its box.

Pandora has too many ads. 

Gil Scott-Heron would roll over

in his recognizable phrase

if he had known

the revolution will not be

regarded as highly

as incremental change.