I'm not saying I'm Nostradamus, but...

I’m not saying I’m Nostradamus, but…

I know it’s a luxury 

to spend a day 

thinking on the fourth step 

of Maslow’s Hierarchy,

but if it’s the Shrinks that say 

who we are

and what we’ve been told

melds together for the better

at seven years old,

then it could be worse,

but I swear

that wasn’t a one hitter 

in her purse,

rather it looked like 

the key to the addiction 

of mankind’s psychological curse;

every four years 

with rage and violent glee

we sit down and vote for the crown,

but have we thought of what 

the tally would be

of another supposedly harmless political rally 

dividing:

MY COUNTRY TIS OF THEE?

To have your cake

and eat it too 

is like looking up a quote 

on goodreads,

truth versus fiction

becomes Christopher Columbus 

hemmed in 

by Amerigo Vespucci,

if it’s not discovered 

in your own reading

then seeking the earnings 

without spending the hours

is counting your chickens

before they hatch,

I’ll call my CPA

to see if that formula lasts long:

1, 2, 3;

the end 

is the beginning 

when heroes only come in suits,

it’s not neckties

that the kids marvel at, 

but capes;

emulating the TV screen

when they should be watching Dad,

Noah,

a flood,

a reckoning,

don’t you see?

“Oh it’s not that bad.”

“It always could be worse.”

True,

but have you ever been

to a 7/11 after 2?

It seems as if we

always revert to the path 

of least resistance

and when and if 

the rains come

after a wildfire

all that work you built on sand

will slide back into the sea

where it 

all began.

“So what’s the plan?”

I’m just one man,

and 

I’m not saying I’m Nostradamus, but

we need a lifeboat

and 

you have to build your own.