Primary Colors

In North Carolina
the primary has ended

with red sides and blue sides
and debate over which side

has been tainted more
by yellow journalism.

Red and blue
with an overlap of green

a crude but necessary accessory

(hopefully not to any
nasty scandals or crimes)

in the glove compartment

of the wisely-futuristic smart car
or boldly-defiant SUV
we travel to success

blend together
to put white in the middle
of it all

or not.

Tedious as it gets
sometimes to follow

the color model does change
for every election

and even the properties
of the base colors
are perpetually in flux.

This poem © 2014 Emily Cooper.

May Polio

The World Health Organization
says that the promising
downward trend

of polio infections
could soon reverse itself
as polio has re-emerged
in 10 countries

including war-torn
Central African Republic
and South Sudan.

The organization's
new rules require Pakistan
Syria and Cameroon

to vaccinate anyone
traveling abroad
at least four weeks in advance
of his or her departure

but it's good advice
for the rest of us

to "Don't hate
but rather
vaccinate

for it ain't the polio
that made FDR great

and if you don't like FDR
then 'Win one for the Gipper'

by taking a deep breath
turning off Fox News

and keeping your mind alive
by ruing that Obamacare

somehow didn't
make you sicker."

This poem © 2014 Emily Cooper.

Once He Had a Love

(Apologies to Blondie)

At Club Odyssey
he was "Mona Sinclair"

then took off his dress
and lost all his flair.

Had no hunch "Steve Wiles"
would be so un-fun 

when he turned all GOPpy
and yessed Amendment One.

You're a real man now
but maybe you're blind

if you think you can leave
all your friends behind.

Ooh ooh ooh-ahh
ooh ooh ooh-ahh ...

This poem © 2014 Emily Cooper.

Head Start

Researchers in the UK
have some bad news

for the parents of babies
with flat-topped heads

a phenomenon that has increased
in recent years

(due to that weirdly
commonplace paranoia

of hoping they will
not die suddenly
during the night

because they weren't
sleeping on their backs)

which is that

costly "helmet therapy"
will probably not help them

so luckily
you can still treat
their malformation
with noninvasive physical therapy

but not before
your next get-together

so that useless baby
can pull its ever-increasing weight

by crawling around
and serving your guests

from a small tray
of hors d'oeurves
balanced on its head.

This poem © 2014 Emily Cooper.

Paradise by the Carriage Light

Today is the National Day of Prayer
so make sure
that wherever you are

be that in a private home
a place of work
an institution of higher learning

or even maybe
in a place of worship

(if your pastor or preacher
or minister or reverend
is cool enough)

to amplify Obama's now clandestine
and nominal 
acknowledgement of Christ

by blasting that classic
Bon Jovi tune

because when you're
livin' on a prayer
you're "halfway there"

but if you should observe
concurrently
a man or woman
who carries on

like some
blind flying mammal
who has the potential
to be saved

but keeps using
the deceptively secure
deep black cover of night

to deny God's everlasting love
and fly "back into Hell"

to receive the short-term pleasures
of bodily sin

you can in fact
"go all the way tonight"

by doing what the Founder Fathers
did to false prophets
and wayward sinners

(and there's even
a special badge

with all attendees
to the 1787 Constitutional Convention
lovingly realized
in polyester thread)

and leave them be

(for Richie Sambora's awesome light
will dawn on them
one day).

This poem © 2014 Emily Cooper.

When the Street Begins

It is 5 o'clock somewhere
but the hangover
is somewhere too

and there are places
where the bad news
has been learned from already

so the people
from the recent past
can wise up

learn from the headache
and not make
the same mistake

of underestimating
their bad reaction

and having to clean up
way more puke
than they expected

once they and their bar buddies
have parted ways

and find themselves
too alone again

and this is all in fact true
not one of those
wild ideas

a couched-in-humor
serious idea

that seems only to come up
when 5 o'clock rolls around
in our time zone
when you're channeling Shel Silverstein

and catching a glimpse
of that adult world
in some far-off land

which is a healthy mix
of logic and compassion

and is in fact
still happy to break your fall

when the sidewalk ends.

This poem © 2014 Emily Cooper.

Silent Star

We still call natural disasters
acts of God

and tornadoes come
out of nowhere
and leave with everything

so it is an apparently
vengeful God

one that won't show
Him- or Herself

one that

outside of the destruction
left behind

won't be talked about
on the news for weeks

and put on trial
for crimes against humanity.

God isn't vengeful

though He feels relieved

off the hook
in a sense
but not really.

Tornado country
is not well-off

but there's no one
around to blame

just a moment to give thanks
for what and whom
He left on Earth

and nothing to do
but rebuild.

This poem © 2014 Emily Cooper.

Special Rites

Sarah Palin said something
and what she said was sensational

and it was about
President Obama's failings
as a leader

and who should care

since she's just a quitter
who can't settle graciously

for living under Obama's
race-baiting socialist rule

and she is ageless and perfect
in every picture

which is actually bad
because a politician's job
when done with a measure of nuance

not typically found
in a fascist

(same difference
you elitist) dictatorship

is very hard
on the hair and complexion.

She said "Well if I
were in charge

they would know
that waterboarding
is how we’d baptize terrorists"

a statement that
is accidentally brilliant

in that it just may settle
the debate

between so-called "secular progressives"
and so-called "traditionalists"
(thank you Bill O'Reilly)

which is "Is Sarah Palin
an affront
to basic human decency?"

This poem © 2014 Emily Cooper.

Bless This Ness

After a satellite image
appeared on Apple Maps
showing Nessie
the Loch Ness Monster in her

(or "his" or "its"
or maybe "their"
since the beast could have

multiple rational
and free-thinking heads)

first major sighting
for more than a year

which is the longest gap
between confirmed reports
since 1925

businesses all over Scotland
are preparing marketing campaigns

around that creature of myth
and late-night binge drinking.

Naturalist Adrian Shine
sees cynicism behind this
direct marketing campaign

saying "The whole point
about the Loch Ness Monster

is that it has not been promoted
in this official manner."

No doubt that commercial
interests have exploited
real people's holy days

exaggerated and even invented
seasonal marketing mascots

but some of these
crass adaptations

have been reabsorbed
into the culture

even becoming
folk heroes along the way.

But in reality
marketing is nothing new
for regular people

who tell stories
that increase social cohesion
while limiting independent thought

or condone new stresses
and new diseases
in their fellow men and women
(which may or may not
include themselves)

trading one means
of feeding a family for another

while relying on
real-time daily mythmaking

through the sincere and unified
adoption of new routines

that "fingers crossed"
are self-fulfilling prophesies

that will make those
fuzzy daydreams come true.

This poem © 2014 Emily Cooper.

Phoning It Home

If you find yourself
wandering and delirious
in New Mexico

approaching the landfill
near the town of Alamogordo

and you rue your judgment

because that imagined oasis
on second glance
is not as such

maybe you were right
the first time.

No it's not water
(which only
comes in bottles anyway)

but a truckload
of Atari's abandoned

"E.T. The Extra-Terrestrial"
video game from 1983

of which the company
was forced to dispose
during that year's
"video game crash"

after having spent millions
to get the rights from Spielberg.

Those who actually played it
would remember it

as one of the worst titles
of all time

but you could finagle
a few dollars from nostalgic gamers
with "ironic" collections

of terrible vintage stuff.

A desperate venture
to be sure

but a bit more moral
than going into meth.

This poem © 2014 Emily Cooper.

Blown His House Down

Contrary to that old
cautionary tale
the Three Little Pigs

a straw house can last
one thousand years
so long as it's
fortified with mud

and the longest
ongoing arguments

for why Cliven Bundy
should be considered
a patriotic hero

and not an ungrateful moocher
who let his 900 cows
munch for 20 years
on federal grasses

and presumably would not
breathe a sigh of relief

at the cessation of his
government oppression

were he suddenly
rounded up and consigned
to a fun life
of truly "free" ranching

can survive unchallenged
until the spirit of his life

is betrayed by his utterance
of the letter.

This poem © 2014 Emily Cooper.

Tell it to Someone

if you do not
or can not
believe it yourself

that life will go on
after your lifetime
is through.

Which is not to say
everything will be all right
in the end

and it is not to say
everything will be terrible
in the end either

because the concept
of "the end"

implies that one current
minute division of time
is the world's final hurdle

which feels terrible
but also a relief

as in an end to suffering
for all.

The realization
that the smallness of our "blip"

is still bigger than what humans 
can know

feels a relief
but also a burden

because existence means work.

This poem © 2014 Emily Cooper.

Re-Routing the Wheel

Federal Communications Commission

Chairman Tom Wheeler

has proposed new

net neutrality rules

meaning that broadband

network owners

would be allowed to sell

an exclusive high-speed

toll road

to whichever content providers

want it

and can afford it.

Wheeler is a Democrat

who says he is committed

to an open Internet

but open and free

is still a "pipe dream"

albeit with fewer and fewer

cumulonimbus clouds

barring the now

prehistoric metaphorical

superhighway Vine

from being swung upon

by the so-called

have-nots

who still have to rely

on their sweet old

Insta-Gram to snail-mail

their selfies to.

The Internet in theory

gives the privilege

of being in a place

called Nowhere

and you are a person

in a specific place on Earth

repping your particular location

while being granted

the inherent trust

of being just another Greek-prefixed

byte in the stream.

Despite that rather Snappy-Chatty tune

a trustworthy little birdie

may have innocently Tweeted
through the Glass

that stream probably will never

"trickle down".

This poem © 2014 Emily Cooper.

De-Mystified

Nearly 3 million dollars

in bonuses was given

to more than

twenty-eight hundred

employees

of the Internal Revenue Service

between October 2010

and December 2012

but twelve hundred

of these people

had tax issues

or official-conduct violations.

Now granted

their bonuses are something like

one ten-thousandth

of what CEOs get

for their more egregious

stealing from the commonwealth

and those responsible

for the bonuses

will likely be reprimanded

but hypothetically

who can begrudge

the more relatable

Joes or Janes

from doing what has been

successful for those

who have inherited power

in a would-be democracy?

Optimists believe

the people will wise up

and rise up

pessimists believe

the people will be subsumed

and meet our doom

and while these two

were discussing

how they saw the world

finding both points of contention

and overlap

the CEO had a few quick meetings

filled up two glasses

with both their "-Mist" suffixes

and said

"You both look so thirsty."

This poem © 2014 Emily Cooper.

She Carries On

Keep calm

and turn eighty-eight

years old

and be admired

by the descendants

of the hardscrabble farmers

and newly-Industrial laborers

who would've rebelled

(or at least stood

on the soapbox

in the center of town

yelling about how unfair

it all was

to a sympathetic crowd

before retiring to the pub)

or the somewhat more

upper-class people

who just happened not to be

too tired to become

a righteous revolutionary mob

in the same day

and did.

Keep calm and be noticed

for your "very kind eyes

with a mischievous glint"

by the photographer

who captured you.

Keep calm and despite

your station

and now mostly-symbolic title

continue to be seen

as a living how-to guide

on the basic traits of womanhood

(and humanhood)

looking good

and taking charge.

This poem © 2014 Emily Cooper.

Mass Media

In a show

of unabashed liberalism

yesterday the Pope tweeted

a prayer request

"for the victims

of the ferry disaster

in Korea and their families"

to his three-and-a-half

million followers

meaning that what is supposed

to be an empty gesture

that does nothing

may instead

through the instant virality

of the interwebs

have an impact

on the situation at hand.

And today

on this holiest of days

he tweeted

"Christ is risen! Alleluia!"

which is simply unacceptable

because anyone

who uses two exclamation points

is probably a heretic

meaning someone

who takes time off

from fearing God

in order to showily

"love" Him.

(And where has love

ever gotten us?)

This poem © 2014 Emily Cooper.

R.E.M. G. BIV

There is still time to enter

the National Geographic

Traveler Photo Contest

or you can just continue

to sit in the intersection

of that guttural

and instinctive color appreciation

that for sighted people

provides answers to questions

we never thought to ask

and envy.

(That's cool too.)

As a child this poet

asked a parent

if it were possible

to record dreams

not because they were spectacular

(and sometimes the most

mundane ones

were given the most explication

of all their insignificant details)

but because

the black (or even blue)

formations she scribbled onto a page

would become something subjective

in a reader's mind

which was well and good

but still no match

for those randomly-firing neurons

that gave her those

"real-photolistic" ineffable

and ephemeral

pre-dawn splashes of color.

This poem © 2014 Emily Cooper.

The Place to Go

It doesn't matter what

the Weather Girls said.

One can not simply

invite all the world's women

to a centralized location

in "the street"

and have them wait for that

downpour of men

that they claim is imminent.

First of all

they wouldn't fit

(well they technically would

but there would be minimal

elbow or purse room)

second of all

some of them would be hoping

for it to "rain women"

and third of all

even with such variety

they might nonetheless agree

on some common cause

for which they feel

a wee bit (or a lot)

held back or treated unfairly

and start marching in protest.

This poem © 2014 Emily Cooper.

The Void of Floyd

Miley Cyrus

has been hospitalized

since Tuesday night

(no not from OD'ing

on twerking while

sticking her tongue out

though it's forgivable

to think that)

due to a severe reaction

to antibiotics.

She tweeted her St. Louis

fans Wednesday morning

since she wouldn't

get to play for them

that night.

But rumor also has it

that she is still in mourning

of the recent death

of her dog Floyd

(reportedly killed

by a coyote).

Her mom Tish Cyrus

bought her a new puppy

named Moonie

but Miley gave it back

because new puppies

can never fully

replace old ones

even after we humans

have done our best to move on

and not all celebrities

regardless of how malleable

they themselves are

think of their pooches

as toys.

This poem © 2014 Emily Cooper.

X-Why Axis

Researchers have discovered

an "interacting protein"

on the surfaces

of both sperm and egg

that helps the two

recognize each other

and join.

This protein has

been nicknamed "Izumo"

after a Japanese marriage shrine.

Izumo pairs with "Juno"

named after the Roman

goddess of fertility

(and who later

reincarnated herself

inside of Ellen Page's character's uterus

when she hooked up

with lovable athletic

nerd Paulie Bleeker).

Since the first meeting

of sperm and egg

is the progenitor of

our beloved homo sapiens

(well at least after

the original Big Bang)

and therefore

that of our beauty and cruelty

and mundanity and weirdness

should we also mourn those

who never got to live

in the first place

never even long enough

to be miscarried

or stillborn

whose particular

combination of cells

never formed

for those reasons

which are split into dozens

of college sociology

and history classes?

It sometimes seems easier

than working with

the people we've got

including ourselves.

This poem © 2014 Emily Cooper.