by W. Barrett Munn
In four days, it will be November,
and the expected temperature for today
here in Tulsa is 88 degrees Fahrenheit—
an obscene number so near Halloween.
The good news is we have no water to drink,
this I read on a sign
held up by a thirsty lawn whose brown
is this season’s fashion statement.
Drill, baby, drill says the untrained actor,
the miscreant trying to get us to self-destruct.
Avoidance is a technique of psychological
origins, a thrill for the adoring crowds
who no longer care how much damage
is done as long as they can hurt someone else
more—like a dentist without gas or Novocaine—
Drill, baby, drill.
and the expected temperature for today
here in Tulsa is 88 degrees Fahrenheit—
an obscene number so near Halloween.
The good news is we have no water to drink,
this I read on a sign
held up by a thirsty lawn whose brown
is this season’s fashion statement.
Drill, baby, drill says the untrained actor,
the miscreant trying to get us to self-destruct.
Avoidance is a technique of psychological
origins, a thrill for the adoring crowds
who no longer care how much damage
is done as long as they can hurt someone else
more—like a dentist without gas or Novocaine—
Drill, baby, drill.
W. Barrett Munn is a graduate of The Institute of Children's Literature where he studied writing under Larry Callen. His adult poetry has appeared in The New Verse News a number of times, in print editions of Awakenings Review and Copperfield Review Quarterly, a printed edition of Sequoia Speaks, and online in Volney Road Review, Speckled Trout Review, Book of Matches, San Antonio Review, and many more. He lives in Tulsa, Oklahoma.
