I remembered, several years ago,
when I was working for a grocery store.
My job was collecting and shipping the reusable glass coca cola and
other drinks’ glass bottles. My pay, I
collected. I would spend eight hours or
more out in that shed in back of the store, keeping track of what was returned
and keeping similar items together that were brought in for money. My official title was Recycling Worker. One afternoon, when I finished eating my
lunch by the garbage cans and was walking back to my work station, someone
yelled to me, “Hey! Repotter!” It turned
out to be an old man that knew my grandfather.
This guy worked at a near by hotel, and since prices but not wages had
been going up, he hadn’t been to a barber shop in a while. I called back to him, “Have a good afternoon,
Hairy Porter!” That caused me to realize
that my Life Is Magic.
My Life is sure different
now. People ain’t acting friendly like
they used to be. They are just
acting. Like, recently, I got yelled at as
I stumbled down the street, while I was sprouting towards where I thinked is my home:
One! Two! I
Fall on my Shoe!
Three! Four! Life
is such a Bore!
Five! Six!
You Pigs really Stink!
Seven! Eight!
You Cause Me to Hate!
Nine! Ten!
Get Back to Your Pen!
Eleven! Twelve!
My Life Sure Is Hellve!
That brought to my mind, “Instead
of making a Snowman, I should go to the Beach.
The waves will make me a Sandman.
Instead of timid, I will be timed.
Sliding down that glass jar, that’ll put me to sleep.”
Somebody, maybe it was my buddy,
if I do have a buddy, which is really cruddy, anyway, that somebody read my
mind and said, “One if you buy chains.
Two when you bite feet. Three as
an Opposing Bore you’ll be.”
I yelled back, “Oh! Really?”
And he said, “You want an Oreo?”
I answered, “I said, Oleo!”
He told me, “You are a bunch of
Jellyites. You keep Laurelling and
Hardying Away! Away!”
And another friend, or was that
fiend, said, “You two think you are Groucho and Chico!”
That caused me to point to the
fiend and say, “I’m Larry.”
And my Bundy said, “I’m Curly.”
Then my Brandy pointed at him and
told me, “He thinks he’s Moe!”
Are you A Bot? I sure hear you A
lot! I don’t know what you Jot! You’re A Rot who kneeds to Bud Away. Away!
I’ve had enough of your
Vote. Do you think you are Devote? You are just a Veto!
Yoda
Hut
Yoda
Hut
Won’t
you be a Yoda nut
If
you are a girl I’ll just call you a Yaddle
Anakin
Anakin
While
you’re at Naboo
Light
Saber
Padawan
And
that Count Dooku
All Obiwan
Then he pointed as he threw the
sky, through my eye, with a lie, like a
Harpo learning how not to say, “Those thrills are my life with these Groucho
comics:
The
Match Brothers
Smoke Oh
Cigarette Toe
Pipe Owe
And Gum Chewed Tobacco.”
That caused me to notice that my Canine
Detective was Defective! Sure, sir,
deficient. I would just Say a Name, Shad a Mane, boy I am lame. Backward and Forward.
And I got told, “That name does
not have to be Abusive!”
I
thought about it. The name does not have
to be a thing, a place, an effort, a thought.
A word is a
work and a world that can have its own existence, or not! Hell, what about that Peppermint in the
Percussion whose Persecution notes that
his word, any word, in this warm whammed worm connects the people who conflict
the alphas and omegas while snaking that all bets are off. Those, towered toes whose weirds will claim
they exist with that woosh creating the gravity’s genuinity who’s ingenuity
geniuses its own engineering comstock.
I was ordered, “Look around,
naw! All you see is Stratum.” And I realized, Straight, Stung Stalled
Scum. What’s this world coming too? And that’s why my nerves never near the Neros
of the past. That Claudius Caesar
Augustus Germanicus cussed and mussed as he missed all the germane of his
neurology when his nerves lodged some new logic that people use and abuse if he
could load it in a New Loose Spit.
All I can say is, “I. C.
Square!” because I see those stairs when
you see me stare up into the stirrups of the sparks in those larks after dark.
And you called me “A Dough Thing
Toad Mess!”
That was such a mess when I got
amassed and amazed that I had to go to Mass.
I will just Borrow for the Mall because
you Burrowed a Burro, Bro! I’m
the one who will go to the Lab. I’ll go
and take all your pays away. Won’t that
be a pain? You sure are a window pane!
So now, as I rush down this
street to the final resting place, I ask myself, am I sowing, growing plants
that clean the air so I can breathe? Or am I sewing, keeping my pants from
ripping as I sit down? So far, I don’t
know! A shining blink here, a skimper’s
wink there, and all I get from the moment is the movement of the moon. That moon is mostly oxygen, silicon, and
iron. I really want magnesium, calcium,
aluminum, and titanium. We need to be
regulated in our regolith. Again and
again I go gothic. So, recover my
revolver to resolve fur for my future.
Spank skank special stinks that over flow my sphynx. A Statement Of Work is the Sow that is in my
business. I keep pigging up a bunch of
money that my pig pen had drawn on paper.
Draw Draw here. Draw Draw
there. Hear a Drawer. Tear a Drawer. Silly Cons draw me everywhere. I’m up to the
Everest. I am so tired from climbing
that I will forever rest. At least now I
got tired so my car can rid the road of riders.
Merrily we rotted a long. Ruled King Kong. Played Ping Pong. Barrely we Vined along, all the polluted bay.
I hope you liked reading this I hope you try reading some of THESE
