"There is no enemy"

A grilled reuben cures many ills,
and I like it better if the locals built where I’m at.
Since the trusty Chevy truck got old, now his
lettering says we can just call him Chet.

Guess I could use a little more nothing,
got too much cluttering built into life —
busy representing ourselves with things that we keep,
tipping scales, keeping now off-balance.

Stripped books get judged by their covers
and come to be kind and say hi to each other and
sound-off like the mirthful sarcastic brilliant loving windbag Jews
my rented flat was under, but over here we learn slow.

Guess the opposite of something ain’t nothing, it’s something-else,
and don’t you dare try to change that again;
even if I wasn’t much scared of anything bad
until someone told me I could be.