Me and My People (Metaphors) by Eric Sparks

We ain’t hard; we’re just some sad fools,
riding in my car with the back full
of apples that we could use anytime to smack you.
Of course we don’t carry guns; we just tell suckers
they smell like dung and tell nuns to jump
in if they’re looking for fun.

Every day we float to the moon, hanging
from green balloons with built-in speakers,
so the tunes scream like kazoos. We
party in outerspace, or really anyplace,
and throw plates like Frisbees when we’re baked
or even just irate.

We stay away from the fakers and frauds;
we watch the Lakers, then flirt with soccer moms.
And the haters’ words don’t reach our ears; we tie
their arms in a bow and laugh when they squirm,
then cook up the porridge and feed
them cabbage, rabbits and earthworms.

Really, we’re all about smiles;
for every second you sit still, we’ve traveled miles;
and we’re the shit still, we were all the while.
The little people talk big and talk down; we
talk real and fly often, leaving the scrubs on the ground.

You can find us in Seattle with the seagulls and eagles;
and our egos are huge; we stand tall like the Space Needle.

Don’t take a false image of who we are;
we only represent our experience,
so far.