Industrial Revolution
Hey Mac, (this from the fridge, a Westinghouse,
As I walked past), in some forgotten life,
A stinking greenish scum is all you were,
But I, a diamond, Hope’s the name I bore,
That’s bullcrap, I replied, and grabbed a beer,
The Hope exists; mere rust and clay you were,
That ain’t the way this works, it snapped, acer-
Bically, full anything you could become:
A frog, some smog, a piece of crispy toast,
For me, more like, an eagle soaring high
Above a cowering rabbit you, my lunch,
You’re destined to be scrapped, you hunk of tin,
I snarled; just then my wife exclaimed, Oh God!
You’re off your freaking meds again? Get help!