Concluding Tributary Poem by Bryan Taplits

So sick am I of all the blarney
The sticky and sentiment mush,
As though I were being conned
by some carnival carny
Who's distributing instead
cotton candied feculent fluff!

These times are not nearly so golden
Nor do they point towards
a fountain-of-youth path,
If you insist on selling me such hokum
Please,
at least bottle it with some liquor-
and place it all in a flask.

I swear,
It's enough to blow my gasket
This seeding of your
postulating poisonous loam,
It's sorta like calling my casket
Commodious!
And a well-rested sweet
home-sweet-home.

Yes!
My golden years are nothing
but a tenement that some huckster
has to me sold,
All life ends up not as 24 carat-
Perhaps they're redeemable-
But the finale is
inlaid with fools gold.