In defense of the elves

You big man.

I know you big
cause you got a big gun.

Itchy twitchy trigger.
Big gun is big man.

I like your truck,
it's big. I know you big,
man,

cause you got a big truck;
big guns in big truck.

You so amazing,
fluff yerself up with some tough man liquid,

drink yourself to genius with big bottle
of fortified iron-aid pale ale,

horse coming, or zombies sneaking?
nah, just the elves rarin' to wrestle. 

But big man don’t wrestle with little elves.
They got big man stuff to do, man.

Big man work hard,
best get himself some peace, 
solitude,

get rested up for the apocalypse;
it's a-coming. might be dragons or Russians, 

but most likely, either

zombies or those snozz-whizzlin liberal pinhead socialist Communistic intellectuals

course they gonna take us to the brink,
so thank God for those big guns and big trucks

and big bottles and big comic books 

and those little wives
taking care of those little children

who are gonna let the big men save the country from meltdown.

Finger on trigger,
drink from the crocodile river, keep eyes on horizon,

big man's gotta protect the weak, the littles
from the enemy
and it's so convenient when the enemy has a name

Mohammed
immigrant
Mexican
zombie

Go on and on.
Important thing is, the big man gotta have an enemy,
cause nothin ain’t never his fault.

Gotta point at someone,
somethin,
for anything that didn’t go right.

Not his fault, nothin' is,
cause big man busy doing big men things.

The big man gotta step up 
Do the tough job, the jobba 

being a big man and not over-fraternizin'
with the childrens and the women-folk

and the uppity intellectualizers
who pretend there is gray when there is obviously

only the pure White of contrasting Red & Blue,

the 21st century big boy version of starched pointy-hat bedsheets draped on head.

and imagining the black of approaching apocalypse; imaginary hooves on horizon 
paranoia as they imagine the pounding of phantom Nightriders racing for wives and sons and daughters.

Nothing Beyond Good & Evil;

Them and Us.

The big men,
loud bottle-clinking at their children's birthday parties;
as they toast off the ritual from a-far;

if it's a daughter;
they will outdo each other with promises of what size shotgun
they will be waiting with on the porch upon daughter's return from
first date;

it is a contest, a contest
to be big, to be the biggest dad,
to out-protect and out-shoot and out-threaten
and out-terrify

the enemy.

The Enemy.

Cause whatever happens,
big man don’t wanna look in the mirror.

Keep the guns oiled
instead of lubricating conversation.

The big men have got it figured out.
It is daunting, trying

to catch up.

I think I'll be a little person.

I can fly-wall sit in on their monologues and 

take notes, and
learn how to stay small

and never get big.

___

at 1.30 a.m. i tumble words and scribblings to page to spill out something positive from fury.