Exodus, Stage Left

I set fire to the stage while the drama is still unfolding. The actors don’t notice. They just keep on keeping on. Those lines need to roll, the show must go on, and so they break their legs as floor boards cave from the endless munching of fire. A blaze, you gaze, but I glaze over and exit stage left. Always left. And I hear a car pull up, my queen driving, and I get in. We cruise in our Cadillac and ignore the welfare of others and feast on our fare for our wellness. We are modern day robin hoods in Cadillac khakis, firing fire arrows from the backseat. Watch it burn. Fuck no, not to learn, but just to do it. This isn’t school, and I am done teaching. You want to learn, well get a library card. Teach ain’t in, and there will be no more teach-ins. We drive up to Calgary in our Cadillac and knock Jesus over. Why? No salvation here. Figure it out yourself, because the self is yours, and myself and herself and their selves are tired of yourselves self-help bull shit. The stage needs to be destroyed. We can’t keep rehearsing and then wondering why the play ends the same. way. everyday. “Remember the good old days?” No, I sure don’t because I don’t have a time machine and even if I did I study history for a living and history is the serial killer of nostalgia. It hacks it up like some bell hop at the Bates Motel where our Cadillac’s are parked, double parked in a trailer park next to a park and eat. Fire munches. It licks the stage we are standing on. It is a hungry cat and we are its milk. It chews and snaps the boards like carrots in a twisted sick vegan salad. So plug the neon sign in and tell the neo cons to fuck off and that new on demand is the neo classical rocket. “These babies took us to the moon,” Neil says. I give my ticket to my queen, the only one of us worth saving. Jesus, the actors, the bell hop, and Neil watch as it lights its engines and ascends like some latter day prophet. The fire from the engine ignites us all and we burn. We burn because we are of this world, and there is no escape for us. We are of the earth. Clay men standing at attention but distracted all the time.

#poetry #WesleyBishop