The Good Fight

The Good Fight

 

 

I stole a book from the Anarchist book store

And was arrested on site

 

the manger, unwilling to talk it out

correctly identifying cognitive dissonance as

opportunism, ideology as

advertising, I as

ruining it for everyone.  

    

Besides a man named “Turmoil”

doesn’t answer questions,

 

even for the police, directed to a camera

labeled “Big Brother” for the sake of a few laughs, and

so Turmoil never had to talk to no pigs.

 

“The world makes us all prisoners” Turmoil just 

lives in the world.

 

Even the law’s suggestion to modernize the catalogue,

to better manage inventory,

dismissed out right,

 

“Like to keep it fluid,”

citing reputation, a responsibility

to the people.

 

Suspicious about being tracked and tagged like some

research animal.

 

Falsely assumed because I:

customer by thinnest of definition

wanted a cookbook.

 

Yet the Anarchist Bookstore only carried the Anarchist cookbook

and you can’t cook s**t with the Anarchist cookbook.

 

And upon locating “Short Ribs Done Right”

may have even paid if it meant

ordering more cookbooks.

 

Instead fearing the “Go Vegan” attitude of the Anarchist bookstore    

would forever imprison the Chestnut beer recipes

between bomb making books,

the Hacker Bible.  

 

Forcing the outsider to hide under book jackets

to withdraw from other dissidents  

to never realize a love affair with

“A Kale of two Cities”.

 

Only having a last laugh

five years after choking down paper bag eggs

In county lockup.  

 

as I braised the meats of freedom

at my Farm to Table

 

housed in the former home of The Anarchist Bookstore

where I’d give Turmoil a second chance

If he’d cover the bar code tattoos.

 

Though every once and a while I find

a dish unwashed

and appreciate the effort.

   

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[Francis Myerick]

i wrote you a poem but i'm not gonna paste it here