POEM: Son of Elmer Gantry’s Bitch


Son of Elmer Gantry’s Bitch – by Mark Roman
This is an essay that became the current poem, but feels like it wants to be lyrics to a song.
I have more work to do…

I.
Why do I struggle in this culture so coarse?  
Why don’t I pursue profit without remorse?
Why do I want to heal, write and sing?  
And feel guilty every time I permit that fling?

REFRAIN
See scrolls, screens and stages speak to me indeed.  
So many died, some lived, that I might listen, watch and read.  
But why did Mommy transmit that curious reading itch?
Why me? Kimmy Schmidt? Son of Elmer Gantry’s bitch?

II.
Is it because I grew up Kimmy Schmidt, not boy but man?
Inside the body of that Eagle Scout son of Willy Loman?
The not yet dead salesman of creeds and policies.
Always at the Goddamn fucking knee of Elmer Gantries.

III.
Is it because I’m still technically Catholic, brother?  
Chained to a Pope enrages a father. But satisfies a mother.
A mother after whom my nurtured fears did once lust.  
A second awkward marriage averted. Back to dust.

REFRAIN
See scrolls, screens and stages speak to me indeed.  
So many died, some lived, that I might listen, watch and read.  
But why did Mommy transmit that curious reading itch?
Why me? Kimmy Schmidt? Son of Elmer Gantry’s bitch?

IV.
The student paper I wrote & published, why could I not let it go?  
That right wing Ken Doll pub crawl college boss sure hoped so!  
See he had a lot of agape to give.  If the smoking gun found sun.
Understand they wouldn’t. Especially his lady’s groom. His son.

V.
Everyone wonders why that abundant happy salesman not in my bones.  
Something completely different than Dad’s insurance.  Like mortgage loans?
Harness my wit and charms to sell whatever’s not yet criminal in this port!
Grab my “fair share” and do it before the next Great Depression or Big Short!  

REFRAIN
See scrolls, screens and stages speak to me indeed.  
So many died, some lived, that I might listen, watch and read.  
But why did Mommy transmit that curious reading itch?
Why me? Kimmy Schmidt? Son of Elmer Gantry’s bitch?

VI.
To love what you’re supposed to do is just a decision away.  
For those not burdened with too many questions to parlay.
Produce for the consumers. Why not Abide? Like The Dude?
Why so fucking depressed and homeless you silly white dude?

VII.
When the vultures steal and enslave, why don’t I in kind retaliate?
Their tactics are worldly and wise, why should I not embrace?
And so to my ground zero arrive the charity of career counselors
What the Goddamn fuck happened to all the emergency responders?

REFRAIN
See scrolls, screens and stages speak to me indeed.  
So many died, some lived, that I might listen, watch and read.  
But why did Mommy transmit that curious reading itch?
Why me? Kimmy Schmidt? Son of Elmer Gantry’s bitch?

VIII.
Doctors without board certified want to medicate my personality away.  
Soma.  For the masses.  If the theatre of Mass is not enough to assuage.  
The good citizens annoyed at the disease of my eyes that see.  
Why so stubborn?  Why not “get over it” and assimilate like we?

IX.
Why is merely being me an act of open revolution against the established fable?  
Why does imminent homelessness bring suicidal thoughts to the food stamp table?  
Mommy gave me religion.  And taught me to read.  Dark & Light, The Force indeed.

REFRAIN
See scrolls, screens and stages speak to me indeed.  
So many died, some lived, that I might listen, watch and read.  
But why did Mommy transmit that curious reading itch?
Why me? Kimmy Schmidt? Son of Elmer Gantry’s bitch?

© 2016 Mark Roman aka Mark Nehls – TheMarkRoman.com

(Rise above mere Dead Poets Societies!  Support poets when they need it most.  While still alive!  BUY autographed copies HERE.)

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A Special Mothers Day Message


Happy Mothers Day!  Thanks Mom for teaching me to read!  Which really confused me, given all the religion and standing by your borderline Amish yet angry man stuff growing up.  Hope that works out for you!  Hope it doesn’t hurt anyone else.  No, I’m not going to call you or post to the social media profile you don’t have today.  Instead, I’ll go out and work, performing a snarky comic character that brings smiles, laughter and joy to mothers and daughters across the globe, here in Sin City itself, Las Vegas.  Yes, I know you hate sarcasm.  That’s why you promiscuously exposed me to Mark Twain, right?  Yes, we know I’m going to Hell.  At least there I’m not compelled to hate the different and suppress my mind for the greater glory of an angry and emotionally unstable god I’m instructed to fear.  (No, not your man “Dick, Don’t Call Him Richard”.  The imaginary man in the sky and alleged Oracle to … Dad.)  Also, the literature, libations and delightful company seem less … gloomy.  Happy Mothers Day!

A Modest Proposal for Your Church Plans (If It’s Sunday …)


As someone who invested large tracts of childhood developing my multi-layered post-traumatic stress and foggy thought by attending churches (thanks Mom & Dad!), I encourage you to do something different this Sunday. Read a book. No, not that one. Had you really paid attention to all the horrors and glaring contradictions, we wouldn’t be having this conversation now. Perhaps try Candide by Voltaire. Read it. Then write a compelling book report. Only then can we ever take your arguments (theological or otherwise) seriously. Don’t forget an adequate source of light! No, not that one. Yes, mythological luminescence choking on metaphors engineered for slow children is certainly powerful, but let’s save that for a rainy day, shall we? I mean literal light, like from the sun or from the light bulbs Tesla … what? … sure, whatever … like Edison invented. Cheers! What? No, I won’t be praying for you. You’ll be praying for me? (sigh) Jesus, is attention deficit some kind of holy sacrament in your cult, or religion or Benevolent Society for Judging the Different?! No, I wasn’t actually speaking to your “lord and personal savior”. I was taking my neighbor’s name in vain. Yes, shame on me, as my neighbor is actually a pretty nice guy once you get to know him. He’s pretty busy with his landscaping business and taking the kids to soccer practice, though, otherwise I’d introduce you and see how he feels about the whole taking his name in vain atrocity. Anyway, please read a bit more literature before you invite anyone else to your “super cool laid back church with coffee better than Starbucks”. The future of basic human decency just might depend on it …
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Candide