The Vicissitudes of Victimhood

I hate to be a victim

but I am

I hate the trudge of the traffic jam

as I crudely propel myself

with yet another barrel

of West Texas crude

and it’s not just prudery

that made me lose interest in pornography

It’s just that I felt like

I was a victim of Hugh Heffner

locked up in the dungeon

of the Playboy mansion

with only monthly visits

from Miss July

and even when I’m drinking

I can’t stop myself from thinking

that is why the only drug to get me high

or when I seek oblivion

why the pleasures of the poppy are denied

and isn’t it such irony

that the treasures of the Taliban

is awash with narco dollars

Afghanistan

a land where the drug wars

and the oil wars intersect

and let us now reflect

on how prohibition failed

and luckily for me I’m not in jail

unlike 80% of the present prison population

who are victims of a crime?

that’s not of their own making

but more of the breaking of the law

made for the inestimable profit

of those very people who should be behind bars

the drug Czars

Just give me all the energy under the sun

and all the pathways to pleasure I might seek

and while I might reek of self indulgence

as a victim I take offence

at being blamed for just trying to have fun

with no damage done to anyone

except perhaps myself

and in all profanity, it all adds up

to a sum for more beautiful and pure

that the one we all now endure

and one so profoundly misunderstood

these are the vicissitudes of victimhood.

RM Cuppaidge © 2005