Margaret Menamin

Ballade of Bad Losers

When Adam was ashamed and hid
because he couldn’t find his socks,
and into sin and sorrow slid
along with Eve (who wore no frocks),
it didn’t raise his common stocks
to point his finger and accuse her.
God kicked him out and changed the locks.
Nobody likes a piss-poor loser.

When Abel was the favored kid
who got the homestead and the flocks,
a bloody lot of good it did
for Cain to bean him with some rocks.
God tracked him down and stopped his clocks
and smartly smote him on his boozer,
then marked his face with chicken pox.
Nobody likes a piss-poor loser.

Recall Medea’s injured id
when Jason found a finer fox
and told her he was getting rid
of her and marrying Fort Knox:
She turned his bride to cinder blocks,
then had to board a sudden cruiser.
Her name was poison on the docks.
Nobody likes a piss-poor loser.

ENVOY:
Now, listen up, you janes and jocks:
If you’re the used and not the user,
just suck it up and take your knocks.
Nobody likes a piss-poor loser.

Letter to Santa Claus

I warn you, Santa, don’t bring me a thing!
My house already bulges at the seams
with nauseating peanut butter creams,
stale fruitcakes and hard cookies. If you bring
another reeking sampler of bad cheese
or chintzy vinegars that masquerade
as vintage Cabernets, then I’m afraid
I’ll use a crowbar on your jolly knees.

Forget the tasteless doodads for the tree:
they’ll only go to Goodwill one week hence.
And no more candles with those cloying scents
that have me sneezing through Epiphany.

I’ll tell you what: Just come and bring your pack
with nothing in it. Take this garbage back.