Mark Antony Rossi's poetry, criticism, fiction and photography have appeared in The Antigonish Review, Another Chicago Review, Bareback Magazine, Black Heart Review, Collages & Bricolages,  Enclave, Expound, GloMag, Gravel, Flash Fiction, Japanophile, On The Rusk, Purple Patch, Scrivener Creative Review, Sentiment Literary Journal, The Sacrificial ,Wild Quarterly and Yellow Chair Review.
 http://markantonyrossi.jigsy.com

​                                Tampa Bay Tantrum
 


I recently attended a sporting event with my young boys and had an encounter with an intoxicated woman whom was incapable of refraining from using profanity in my family's presence. I mentioned it to her and she cursed right at me while my children stared in disbelief. Her husband turned around with a strange look on his face. At first I thought it was because his balls were still in her purse and he needed to retrieve them before he uttered a word. But then I realized he was searching for his pants since his wife had been wearing them from the beginning of their sad excuse for a marriage.

She was a season ticket holder who smelled like a Canadian brewery exploded in her filthy mouth. She proceeded to report my family to arena security for harassing them via rooting for the visiting team. None of this made any sense.  Why would anyone listen to the lunatic rants of an unattractive soccer mom desperately in need of a makeover and a twelve step program? But they did and threatened to expel me for causing a nuisance.

What a sad state of affairs. This backward place allows mixed drinks and beer sold two hours before the gate opens. This unsafe policy guarantees a sizable portion of the fan base would fail a sobriety test before they entered the building.  I'm in the wrong because my family is cheering for the opposing team. This crap pisses me off beyond all norms of better behavior. And I grab an empty beer bottle from a trash bin and toss it at the windshield of a patrol car parked nearby.  It was fun to watch the hippies being chased by local cops who usually get their jollies by harassing out- of-towners. Maybe the police will do something original like arrest someone from their own municipality.

Don't hold your breath. The only thing worse than cry- baby season ticket holders are small city cops whom act like their patrol area is an extension of the local mall where all they have to do is look tough and call for back up when someone utters an angry word. In a tired town torn between tantrums and tax hikes---Common Sense is smothered in its slumber and slyly replaced by rouge-wearing robots warped by entitlement and the lazy attributes that drag the driveways of disengaged drones. I don't pity these fools; neither should you. They drain the patience of an already hyper tense society.



 

Mark Antony Rossi's poetry, criticism, fiction and photography have appeared in The Antigonish Review, Another Chicago Review, Bareback Magazine, Black Heart Review, Collages & Bricolages,  Enclave, Expound, GloMag, Gravel, Flash Fiction, Japanophile, On The Rusk, Purple Patch, Scrivener Creative Review, Sentiment Literary Journal, The Sacrificial ,Wild Quarterly and Yellow Chair Review.
 http://markantonyrossi.jigsy.com

                     Tomb of the Unregistered Voter
 
                                                                               
 
    Is there anyone left who actually believes in Democracy? Why should we when self interest tears at the heart of human decency?  Why should we when special interest devours the efforts of an entire community?  You cast your ballot and see what changes. Only the faces change, the lies remain the same.
 
    Your lie and my lie melted into a blown-dry guy ready to forget whatever he told us moments ago. You know it's true: one man, one vote is the engine of untruth. And no, no, no, women have not changed the system. They lie with the best of them. That's what passes as Equality today.
 
    Is there some better government out there today? Communism proved it was more false religion than political utopia. Scratch that one. Socialism cannot suppress the ambitions of the average man. No one deep down inside truly wants to spread the wealth. Fascism needs and creates too many enemies for it to take a firm hold on power. Monarchy is absolutely dependent on divine rights to legitimize itself. We all believe in God until it costs us something. Plus, why should inbred geeks live in tax-free castles?
 
    What you have been suspecting is true: Democracy is a half-truth sold to half-wits fairly satisfied with a spin that convinces them someone is less than deserving. Call this spin whatever you wish: advertising, movies, racism, fashion, etc. Each serves together the same Master. The darkness that dwells within. The fear demanding security at any price. The hate commanding fear to find a scapegoat. The scapegoat selected through a roulette-like process---them yesterday, you today, maybe the others tomorrow.
 
     What does any of this matter? You know its true but still proclaim not to believe. The last generation betrayed us all; their rebellion an act of vanity. Speak of them with anger and disgust and you further understand our history. This generation a lost tribe breast-fed music television has little hope at redeeming anything but soda bottles. What does any of this matter? Your desire to leave small towns is motivated by stupid fantasy. The manufactured dreams of executives anxious to use your dumb bodies as fodder for the latest ad campaign.
 
     Join us here, friends, soulless suburbia is crowded with spent victims already discarded by cash machines. You prefer to call them parents. But we know them as older examples of what you shall become. And we can't wait for you to join our army of walking dead. Sign your name, impart your number, machines munch millions a second. Never too crowded for another wandering brat about to turn into tomorrow's headline, deadline and bloodline. You've stepped out of a tired town into sleepless land, the ever-expanding tomb of the unregistered voter.