Category: Poetry

What we need
is some kind of
feather boa situation, where
donning such a garment
would be considered
a boost to morale
in this organization,
especially since
we’re so concerned
with increasing sales
of pinecone-inspired trinkets
to be displayed
prominently in the home.

I marked my mattress
on both sides,
heads and tails.
I know with 100% certainty
which side will come up
when I flip it,
rendering probability
a thing of the past.

When you behold
the average sidewalk banana,
you wonder if it’ll bounce
when you throw it against the ground.

But you dare not touch the fruit;
who knows where it’s been?
If you were braver,
you’d pick it up and eat it.

Do these people even care that their sole reason for existence is to make sandwiches for their so-called benevolent overlords? I wonder if an impartial observer has ever mentioned this to them, to make them think of alternatives for living. For example, instead of making sandwiches, they could be making wind chimes or clay vases. There are so many other things in this universe, I can’t believe sandwiches are the be-all end-all. I get it, sandwiches are nice and loaded with value in the form of meats, cheeses and vegetables (even fruit the way some of these weirdos make them), and the action of composing a complete sandwich must have some pleasure associated with it. I don’t want to be the bad guy, I’ll keep my mouth shut and even make a few sandwiches of my own to blend in. I just can’t believe that they blindly burn up their finished products in the name of religious sacrifice. I’ve seen some messed up dogma in my time, but this takes the cake.

The car door could use some WD-40. Hell, my knees could use some WD-40 while we’re at it. You’re probably not the right person to grease up my joints, you just work on cars. Do you know a guy who could fix me up with a minimally-invasive procedure of some kind? I really wish my joints were on the outside like the Tin Man’s. Well, why not? I’m sure it can be done for the right price. There’s probably a guy for that too. I have seventy-eight dollars at my disposal, I’ll bet I can have something done if my insurance picks up most of it. I can only imagine the newfound flexibility and freedom of movement; I’d have an unfair advantage over most folks. But you know what? I’d probably be disqualified from participating in any dance competitions. Never mind, I can never give up my right to get funky in front of judges. Just the WD-40 on the car door, please. Thank you.

There are 4,952 channels on TV and zero worth watching at the moment. Twenty minutes ago there were seven decent programs, and in ten minutes there will be another four worth watching. In the meantime, I’m left to my own devices and unable to comprehend anything worth doing. I’m so used to the instant gratification of television that I’ve developed the habit of staring blankly at one of two things: television and nothing in particular. Ten minutes of staring at nothing in particular might cause a rupture of some sort. I haven’t been left alone to think for myself in years, not since school if I can recollect. This is going to be excruciating, I don’t know if I can take so much idle time (that doesn’t involve absorbing TV). Wait! There’s an episode of Loch Ness Monster Hunters right now, I can’t believe I missed it! Thank God. No thinking for me any time soon.