Shrub Junkie We’re bowling pins
doing our penguin struts all over
the streets of our neighborhoods,
cities and worlds
together, strutting all at the same time
but always alone
so alone whether or not
we synchronize our steps within the pace
of a walking group.

We walk, alone and alone in groups
until some gigantic three-holed testicle
pops out of nowhere,
rolls in between strutters
rolling freely like on slippery butter
and unless it rolls into a gutter,
it will strike a pedestrian,
knock us down,
utterly
Cock-wrangled
by a Bush and a Dick
motherfuckin’ sick
bowlin’ republican shits,

and we’re down and out
until some damn soda recycling machine
picks us up and places us back
in our niche to be knocked
up the ass and over again
by that giant testicle flung loose
thumbling, pointing, flipping
off fingers
of the Shrub Junkie Cowboy from Texas.