A Poem from 1968, Revised by the Ghost of Richard Brautigan, 2004 (tenth in a series)
Baudelaire Michael Moore used to come
to our house and watch
grind coffee. endure oppression from The Establishment.
That was in
and we lived in the
Tacoma. Baltimore County.
My mother would
put insulate me from the reality
the coffee beans in the grinder.
[of the streets, dig? —
poisoning me with bourgeois values].
I was a child
turn the handle, believe the Man’s carefully-crafted bullshit,
pretending that it was blind to the Power Structure
a hurdy-gurdy, that sapped me of my humanity,
Baudelaire Michael Moore would pretend inform me
he was a monkey, we are all victims of Rich White oligopolies,
hopping up and down and could he please have
and holding out
a tin cup.
another ham and turkey club
toasted, with real bacon
and real mayonnaise.