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Lawrence S. Pertillar 2947 (Connecticut)

So pungent is the aroma.
And the ongoing smell,
Of the distrusted, crusting...
Oven roasted corrupted toasted fraud.
Making words to waste them,
To describe...
How long it must have taken to prepare,
The perfect ingredients...
Found to find to whipped together,
Such a blend of deception.
Hidden to hide behind backs disguised.

And too difficult it is,
To criticize, fault and blame...
Everyone crooked cooking up,
This delicious and tasteful pot of lies.
It has to be admitted,
Not too many could refuse...
Walking away,
From conflicts and divisions created.
To accept a participating,
Would ultimately achieve for themselves...
The recipe to have them too believe,
A power to obtain it...
Can and could,
Leave a stench too irresistible.
Few would be left not to know,
From where the B.S. made to create...
Came overwhelmingly to flow.

'Are you back here, again!?'

'Heavens, yes!
My only request is to lick the pot!'

'You want that pot hot?
Await until it cools?'

'Are you kidding?
I want that stuff as hot as you've got it!'

'What about that tongue of yours?
This stuff will just make it,
That much more acidic and disgusting!'

'I know.
And I remember the days,
When I had been...
Suspected to be a nonconformist.
You know...
The 'them' of 'they' to go back,
From where you came from people!'

Times are rapidly changing.
You stay patient and wait right there.
We are still serving a long line,
Of conservatives.
Claiming to have liberal appetites.'

'Say what?
And since when?'

'You didn't hear this from me, but...
Those folks are 'swingers'.'

'What do you mean by that?'

'During the day,
Their noses are stuck up in the air.
But at night?
Those same noses,
Are sniffing around for some diversity.
If you catch my drift?'

'Oh, that?
I've known that all my life.
Never have I seen them in daylight.
Getting a taste of what they've created.
Pretending its power they want to get.
By attempting to devour the taste of it.
To not admit,
Who they rely upon to clean up their mess.
Done to accuse us of being the culprits.'

'Everything must change.'

'Nothing stays the same.
I was told many years ago,
Appreciate what you've got.
Or that bite to return,
Will come to burn your butt alot.'

That depends,
On whose swinger's butt...
Is in that sling!'


'I digress.
Hold on.
Don't go anywhere!
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Submitted by Lp,jr. on October 06, 2021

2:05 min read

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    "Pungent" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2021. Web. 4 Dec. 2021. <https://www.poetry.com/poem/111482/pungent>.

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