Babes

“They’re a piece of shit!” the neighbor yells.

I point over my shoulder to my son playing in the yard, he gives half a glance and half shrugs a half-assed apology. My son is running in circles while my wife watches from the porch. My wife glares at the vulgar amateur politician standing in our yard.

She tells me to stop talking to him and he will quit coming around. The stray cat theory–just stop feeding it. She tells me there hasn’t been a single time he’s come to the yard where he hasn’t taught our boy a new way to curse at or hate people. I tried telling her that our son was just getting a crash course in current events and real American politics.

She liked my sarcasm more when we were dating.

I don’t have the heart to send the guy home. Instead, I’ve tried to make our meeting point closer and closer to the corner of the lawn. As soon as I step outside, he comes over with his hands in his pockets, and finds some excuse to rant about the youth, the nation, these end times.

It’s serious business to him. This world is really ending. It’s comedy to me. If we were that close to the apocalypse shouldn’t you be taking this knowledge somewhere other than a neighbors lawn.

Ranting inaction.

“I don’t know how this type of person even makes it in an election?!” he goes on, as I stand tolerantly silent, “Why won’t anyone listen to the candidates I know are better?”

“Cuz they piece shit!” my son yells at him, then continues running in a circle.

The neighbor stares at me.

“The kid has a point.” I smile.

God, I love politics.

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