Brown Shoes Poem by Ted Sheridan

She ask me so I just went on and told her___

Poor demented souls
devoid of any memory
of their own pathetic existence.
Zombies who walk the earth
with senseless smiles on their faces
and holes in their brown shoes.
Nobody wears brown shoes anymore.

Staggered and misplaced by time
they verbally defecate false prophecies
over breakfast bowls filled with female bovine's urinated milk
and floating denatured rat and roach excrement
not to mention dehydrated memories of what
it use to be like to eat real food.
Nobody eats real food anymore.

Pointing skyward with dirty nails and bad posture
they predict the coming of paradise and rapture
only to be disappointed by the lack of unyielding faith
in the cleanliness of their gods, for she has bad teeth
and rotting flesh, on her conscience too
as she kneels before her gods to pray.
Nobody kneels to pray anymore.
They pray in their cars.

And so it goes, on and on because
we have lost our way but we still continue
to exonerate our filthy selves with chemically treated
animal fat and perfumes in an effort to disguise
what we despise most of all in our mediocre lives.
Odor with disease of poverty
And when the satellite TV blackouts
Hypocritical and condescending of each failed try
we beg to be forgiven for our achievements
as we search our databank for signs of intelligent human life
and we still come up short and ugly with not a clue
of whatever happened to our old copies of 'Mad' magazine,
but 'What me worry? ' nobody reads anymore.

Copyright ©2007 Ted G. Sheridan