Planned Obsolescence

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You can put lipstick on a pig,

but at the end of the day,

the shade may just go out of style,

because of controversey

over animal-testing.

I’m telling you this,

on perhaps the most important invention

of our time,

using architecture and infrastructure,

built by brilliant minds

and billions of tax dollars-

that is being sold back to you monthly,

bundled with cable TV and a landline,

that serve as expensive

background noise,

A smartphone accomplishes all of this,

Just don’t let it shatter, bend or explode.

Cars these days,

are safer than ever before,

because fender-benders,

smash their plastic bumpers,

spiderweb-crack their Plexiglas,

and collapse their every crumple zone,

like an empty tissue box,

to be thrown in the trash,

and left out on the curb every Tuesday.

It’s very hard

To practice what you preach,

When screaming,

“Waste not want not,”

While standing at the summit,

Of your own personal

massive garbage heap.

Scheduled Maintenance

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Tinkering is the art of incrementalism.

The heart grows fonder with each quarter-turn of a socket wrench,

I invest my time to top off her fluids when she’s running low,

Check the tread on her tires,

Pull out any dents,

Because she can’t do that on her own.

In return, she does the impossible,

Gets me where I need to go,

Yet doesn’t ask that much of me,

I’m just happy to help.

On the Road: A few Highway Haikus

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1) Black, cracked tarmac,

Potholes dot  line,

Craters on the moon.

2) Grey plastic fragments,

Torn toys, paper bags, roadkill,

Litter on the shoulder.

3)  Dented divider,

Past event– tragedy?

Unnamed accident.

4) “Fuel, 16 miles”

Gas light on, alone, no signs,

Driver’s dilemma.

5) Deer crossing; beware,

Old habitat rended now,

Just passing through here.

Oil Slick

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Matte black and monochrome,

Glassy, placid patch,

In the interplay,

Of the moonlight,

There’s a swirling spectre,

A rainbow in the asphalt.

The oil pan,

Is trying its hand,

At abstract expressionism.

The slow drip isn’t quite random,

And easier to understand,

Than the grand hand of man,

But even without command,

It’d be too harsh to say it’s bland.

My car may be,

A little bit pretentious,

But it’s not just artist-artifice,

I believe in it.