call to arms

There is too much politics for me right now.
I have wasted too much time
huffing and puffing and pacing the floor.
Watching pie charts and bar graphs while
the contents of my glass and refrigerator
slowly dwindle and ebb away.

Often I might bellow and announce
"I don't need a vote; what I want right now
is a fucking machine gun!
A flame thrower. A midnight call to arms."

I don't really mean it, of course.
I have no use for the fist punched aloft on tv.
The cheer of a crowd as the handcuffs go on ;
the probable fifteen to life.
What I want is a sandwich. A small beer.
The sun on the ocean as my boat slips away.

Knock out the windows. The sheriff is coming.
Women and children first.

a tip of the three-cornered hat to the pirate.