top of page


Here behind this screen

hidden by a curtain

we make our choices

from freshly printed slips


then after dutifully boxing

we retire to our own boxes

our beers and unfulfilled dreams

to watch the wranglers


With their handshaking routines

their hallmark smiles

making promises we know

they won’t keep but what


The hell, we sent our boys

to the east didn’t we

and they came back boxed

didn’t they. some businessman


Just like you and I made

a killing in wooden boxes

another printed those millions

of unused slips now fluttering


To garbage heaps, pocketed

wads of deflating dollars c’mon

who cares we all did our duty

democracy that’s what we call it

To Go Back To
Hit your browser's

© Johnmichael Simon



bottom of page