Peak pollen pollution,
Running in the thick air
Was labored at best.

Why should I moan?
I’m out, catching the wind
While others are struggling for a breath.

These weird times,
Where something good
Becomes bad to some.

Public health policy
Profit making ability

The political smog
Making living a pollster’s proposition
Who gets the vote? Who gets their last breath?

Nesting dolls,
Smaller, but the same,
None stick out
Nine may as well be twenty
There’s analytics for you,
Kind of like Democrats this time,
Hopefully, they figure it out,
#1 is too much
And needs to be voted out,
Start banging that drum,
They’ve got to see the pitch coming
Knowing what it is before his loud mouth says it,
Then again, maybe, I’ll just watch baseball,
That stacks up better than all these candidates.

Just watched that Star Wars movie,
It’s either the third or sixth
Depending on how anal you are,
But so we are on the same page,
It is the one where Luke and Leah were born,
You know the one where Obi-Wan called
The soon to be Darth Vader,
The chosen one.
Earlier, Anakin, the soon to be Darth Vader,
Referred to himself as the chosen one,
And having great powers, and an empire,
And more power than anyone else, and
How come the writer didn’t think to put a scene
In a futuristic city with this budding despot
Telling everyone that he could get away
With everything, no matter the laws,
Despite the checks and balances from
Jedis, Senators, or the supposed power of the
Once again, cinema imitating life.

My hip hurts from running,
Only a normal amount,
The soreness will be gone
In the morning.

This is a good thing,
Certainly, my discomfort
Being temporary,
Is nothing like that in The Swamp.

I bet the pain of running from
Has got to hurt more
Than a little Ralph run.

Better to for a run
Than be on the run
I’m doing another seven tomorrow
The orange one must be sprinting.

Perhaps a heating pad is not enough.
Maybe two-thirds majority, either.
Not sure of the connection,
But whether I’m warm enough
Or freed from this political apocalypse
I’m fairly sure things wont change much.

So I’ll keep running
And I’ll keep voting
Because as hard as the miles are
Not having a say is worse.
Soon enough my quads won’t hurt,
Hopefully, America will wake up just as quickly.

Can it get any worse,
The pulling of the purse?

Could it be the orange one lies
All the while hosting foreign spies?

Why can’t his supporters understand
His hypocritical fellatio as also ran

Or are they sucking up so much of his crap
That they’re buying his dance on their laps?

Please let this end, the disaster that is now
Before China joins Russia in owning a presidential sow.

Tonight I had had enough of Trump.
I’m sick of the Republicans, the Democrats,
Both proclaiming to have my interests
At the top of their lists.

I had also grown tired of sports,
MLB, NBA, NCAA all initials
For greed and the monopolization
Of my time.

“That’s it,” I said,
Flipping to MeTv
To catch some lighthearted seventies sitcom hilarity
On an early episode of MASH.

There was a time
When I could recite every line of each episode,
But the show tonight felt new,
One that kind of reminded me of the greatness of the show.

It was funny,
The humor had a great bite to its political humor.
I sensed the same need for humor
In Korean/Vietnam war commentary and the current DC BS.

There was a gut punch, though.
Henry could not be with his newborn son.
Radar brought him a baby to hold.
I knew Henry would never see his son.

For later in the series,
Henry dies,
In one of the greatest episodes of television history.
I changed the channel during a commercial.

The scene on the screen made me want to scream
As reporters described children who may never see their parents again
Because they were taken away by an orange man
And his red-hatted haters.

Again, where is the comedy,
Where are the artists,
Where are the politicians who stand for something
Other than hyperbole and re-election.

I stuck with MASH,
Satisfied with the entertainment value,
More impressed with the social commentary,
And so disappointed with everything else.