If I say stop fucking more people into this world
until things level off, you must listen to me.
I can’t emphasize enough the need to improve
the conditions for the vast majority before we even think
of producing more people, most of whom just wind up
as numbers, throwaways, doing nothing more than
taking advantage of the system, skidding along on
tax payers’ dollars and burdening the rich and powerful
with a sense of guilt that they don’t do more philanthropic
work, donating to charities, and organizing food giveaways
outside their mansions. What I’m saying is that if more
women would just say no, and play more with dolls
instead of producing babies, and give men hand jobs
instead of allowing them to put their thing in that place
which should principally be used for expelling a variety
of liquids such as diet coke and coffee, the world could slowly
get back to the way it was when there still was an opportunity
for everyone to have their own plot of land, a refrigerator,
and an automatic dishwasher. . .
I wish they’d never been discovered, because if they hadn’t,
there’d be no rapes, child molestations, and unwanted pregnancies.
People would keep their hands to themselves and treat each other
with the respect that each person deserves. And there’d be no peeping toms lurking around backyards trying to catch an unsuspecting man or woman coming out of the shower or changing from their clothes into their pajamas. People would no longer need to lock their doors at night, frequent strip joints, or buy porno movies which only makes bad people a lot of money. Men would still be able to act like men, play real men’s sports like rugby, cricket, and tiddlywinks, and women would still be able to have Tupperware parties and wear the latest fashions without feeling threatened while walking in the street. There’d be more time to talk about important things in life like grandma’s new set of teeth, or how the girl across the street was finally able to buy a bicycle after saving her allowance for nearly a decade.
LET US BEGIN
Can you feel my pain?
I can feel yours, so much so that I feel like giving you money
to take a lavish vacation in some exotic place
where you can forget about it for awhile.
I also feel like kissing your feet
the way Mother Teresa used to do
with the rejects of the world.
I’d do just about anything to alleviate your suffering,
not only because I feel it so poignantly,
but because in diminishing yours
I’d surely diminish a good deal of my own.
After that, maybe we could start a club
in which we take it to the people,
helping them with everything
from relationship problems to financial difficulties,
to the fear of growing old,
and ultimately the fear of death.
I would be president and you would be vice president,
spreading the word with regard to what we could do,
always comforting people and assuring them
that no matter how grim it seems
there is always hope,
always another way to look at things.
And with that, let us begin. . .
Jeffrey Zable is a teacher and conga drummer who plays Afro Cuban Folkloric music for dance classes and Rumbas around the San Francisco Bay Area. His poetry, fiction, and non-fiction have appeared in hundreds of literary magazines and anthologies. Recent writing in MockingHeart Review, Colloquial, Ink In Thirds, Third Wednesday, Fear of Monkeys, Brickplight, Soft Cartel, After the Pause, Rosette Maleficarum, and many others. In 2017 he was nominated for both The Best of the Net and the Pushcart Prize.