Motel Todd

 

I was born Todd Taylor in January, 1967 in Texarkana, TX. My parents were Arkansas teenagers at the time when the state slogan was “Land of Opportunity”. My parents found theirs and moved to Dallas, TX in 1971. I have lived all over the Dallas/Fort Worth Metroplex ever since then. I have held a variety of jobs: baggage handler, pizza delivery driver, hotel house person, carpet cleaner, foreign language lab worker, grill cook, car washer, grocery bagger, and store stocker. I currently work in real estate and dabble in music, poetry, and prose.

 

Motel Todd's Blog: www.cyberzencommunique.blogspot.com

 

Suburban Hell

 

Absentee wife working 2 jobs

Me at my 9 to 5 real estate

Drowning in debt

Choking each day

IRS

Rent

Phone

Electricity

Student Loans

Cable

On or before the due date

Or late fees will be charged

Termination notice

Pay, pay, pay

The Man

Pay, pay, pay 

The Man

Pay, pay, pay

The Man

 

At the end 

Our marriage was 2 names on a credit card bill

Our souls had been mailed off

With a late fee

 

 

 

---

 

 

White Trash Sonata 42

 

Greasy hair staining walls cushions

      Like Jesus on the Shroud of Turin

Funky, fecal odor raping noses above

       Dirty Cheeto ground carpets

Stale smoke piss farts mildew dog breath

     As sweaty fur drips

Dried mucus dirt/shit stains naked children

      Standing by used diaper overflowing trashcans

Daytime TV talk peeling paint trailer house

       As screaming children play

Obese loud momma greasy hair eats donuts

       While flies swarm in the heat

TV drones, drones, drones

Children scream, scream, scream

Sounds like a nightmare

But its just ordinary people

On the poorer side of America

 

 

 

---

 

 

Roaring Jets

 

Screaming over my cheap room, TX

Reminding me of another wounded

Or dead Iraqi/Afghan soldier

Red, white, & blue bleeding red

For years upon years now, today

For years upon years angry, then numb

Endless war accepted too calmly

No draft keeping the embers unlit

As the wars grind up

Yet another generation of

Bright, hopeful, young people

Screaming over my cheap room, TX

Fighting troops bringing

Liberty for others but hell

For themselves & families

Something that even the most

Serpent evangelical tongues

Can not cast out - WAR

 

 

 

---

 

 

Grandma’s Enema Bag

 

It hangs so dull and mundane on the bathroom wall

The red color faded from its age

The plastic worn on the tube

The faint smell of piss it dispels

 

As I sat pinching a loaf, I wondered of its use

Then I came up with a theory

 

See long ago my grandparent’s grew up in the country

They didn’t have today’s medications

So to relieve the constipation

They used the enema bag

 

As I get up and wipe my ass

I give the bag one more glance

Then leave the enema bag to its solitude

 

 

 

---

 

 

Cracks

 

Walking through the sea of human misery

You feel their pain

Their agony

Their disease

 

Dying, Dying

Death all around

 

Their fault, your fault

Or society’s

 

It doesn’t matter

When a hungry face

Stares in your eyes

You see no lies

 

Only the desperation of a dying human

You are powerless to help

So you die a little too