POLITICAL Poem: The Dishwasher Has Facial Recognition, by Katie Swabb

Say things like:
you only live once.
Take sub-lingual supplements.
Stay in child’s pose.
Have a laugh with the boys.

Go on.
Buy the damn car.
Buy the damn dishwasher.
The one with facial recognition.

And while you’re at it—
go see the girls.
Buy the girls.
Buy their whole village.
Fuck them.
Seriously.
Literally.
Go nuclear.

Pursue your dreams.
YOLO.

Hold your breath.
Hyperventilate.
Reach altered states.
These United States.

Find Jesus.
Or Buddha.
Better yet—
find crude oil.
Drill.
Thoroughly.
For lucrative measure.

Say things like:
“In my day.”
As though it isn’t.

Let ancient tar harden thick in your stomach.
Take the ulcers.
The spasms.
Like A Man.
Enjoy the blisters.
The dry heaves.
Let those cells replicate, ladies!
Shoutout to stress-induced alopecia.
Applause for arrhythmias.
Tickle your tonsils
with grandpappy’s gun.

Say things like:
I tried my best.
It’s true after all.
Shut everything down
with this One Simple Trick.

They say the new health guy
has a worm in his brain.

Uh Oh!

Can we please keep politics out of this?
And brains?

Can we just skip the childhood stuff
and get to The Now?

Are we there yet?
Have we reached Nirvana?
Does it come
with **free shipping?