7-up Martinis

Down 7-Up martinis

Whilst surfing the waves of disdain with a judgmental

youth conscious urbane crew

of armchair professionals

self impressed

more or less in this our modern day debacle

Everyone's attitude is that of an "eat me" liberal although

tyrannical

in a 2k3 kind of historical way

Like ole Hannibal

I dare today to say

In overpriced loafers

and fashion's discontent

The race they run is nonetheless

a narrow minded quest

A mental hazing of sorts

A poltergeistic

sport

of sorts

where the one who wins is

far from

the athletic best

in the hashing

quarters

or on the new millennium's

court

Khakis and authentic Birkenstocks

foster bleeding heart ballyhoo

From hypocritic hippies

with introverted cocks

and invisible

navels

Impressed by pretentious sweat house made labels

Believing..............

Believing that beauty is greater

the closer one is to the cradle

High profile position on the 17th floor

and once more in a modernistic

narcissistic

pseudo altruistic tower of Babel

Where the secretaries

have flat nippled

ripple free

plastic orgasms

And the wives cross-town

are a fucking Xanax induced bore

While she

You know the "Mrs."

of her own indifferent accord

8-5 playing an ambitious

a-line

skirted whore

to her triple chinned

payroll tyrant

who

makes a dutiful habit of sniffing

around every infinitesimal

higher educational

quintessential

XX fire-hydrant that settles for another

rung

on his corporate ladder

after four........pm

It's a tainted trade off for a lecherous score

The player's never

giving thought

to the forgotten

"For richer or poorer"

Thing or other

I see them every day

racing along the $2.25 toll highway

Bobbing

and swallowing

the world's

pungent salty cum

for another

15 cents and a hearty Fuck You

piece of the

pie

and yet

another rung.....

We run the race

I run

proudly without any souls on my shoes

Convincing myself

that this is

the life

that I wanted

to have or to intellectually choose

But

inside I still feel discontent

and

the weight of disgrace's cinder blocks

painted sad in complicated bluish hues

J.K. Bradford©