[By the] Spool

Functional elastic waistband replacement
has taken the sweatpant market by storm,
just as those most forward-thinking
tastemakers and trendsetters predicted
as far back as a full generation ago.

Here’s the long and short of it:
You’re the kind of person who very much enjoys
the comfort and functionality of a sweatpant,
to the point where your favorite pair (they
don’t make ’em quite like that anymore)
requires a new waistband after only
moderate garmential utilization.

Rather than fretting and tossing
those pants you know and love
(within whose bounds you formed
the most lasting memories of your entire lifetime),
you simply dip into your junk drawer
for a length of replacement elastic
and doctor up those trousers all on your own!

Replacement elastics are sold by the foot
(or in fractions of feet, for the real weirdos out there),
with a competitive price drop if you order it
by the spool.

Fully engrossed in the 21st Century, we believe
it’s our duty to turn that dream
of on-demand, taut-yet-comfortable waistbands
into a reality that we modern world citizens
take for granted, like the internet
or patent leather galoshes.

Disclaimer: due to the sheer number
of semi-literate individuals asking if we
provide discounts for people ordering their elastics
“by the pool”, we have discontinued
poolside delivery of our fine product line.

Smidgen

Don’t knock the verdict ‘til you’ve read the effervescent love stories of an older gentleman who reminds us all that a lake of justice may only be multiplied by itself as many times as would be appropriate for a spam wrangler embroiled in a cosmic prayer for guidance.

And not that we’d have to succumb to the specious reasoning
subjecting border collie manifestations to undue criticism
simply because of their perforatory nitrous oxidation theories;
as hair-brained as they may sound to the unindoctrinated few
with access to local channel 16.17–WESC: “The Glaring® Sound
of Beatniks All Around”–a smidgen of trust
for our ovine-herding counterparts will doubtless reveal
innumerable quality chicken sandwich sources within
a seven-mile radius, and for that we should stand and applaud.

Thanks, Dad

“Parallel entities befit madness, my son.

“You should never turn your back on those other dimensions our forward-thinking predecessors have been touting for some time now, or your attention will lose its cosmic importance, the aggregate of local souls gradually easing you out of their observational patterns–though it’s the last thing they would do if given the choice.

“While you are charged with keeping your attention beyond the present actions contained within our visible plane, you mustn’t let the responsibility weigh on your consciousness too much; although you know everything is simply an illusion, you are an integral part of the chain of illusions keeping our earthly consciousness afloat.

“When you shudder, know the implications. When two birds meet on a wire and appear to converse, understand that their dialogue fits into our space on a level wholly undisturbed by our own idea of language. No need to fret over payment, my first lesson is always free.”

“Thanks, dad.”

——

First draft posted on 10/12/11,
originally entitled #40

Scribbles

Tiny little jubilants toss paint chips
into the rat-faced fire as their attempt
to reap the benefits of social currency.
Judging by their naiveté–they’ve only
just entered the space quite recently–
it would seem they’ve missed out on
the initial burst and are plunging into
an inescapable trough of national debt (god
bless them all, those stalling sensationalists
of the written turd). Once the uninformed masses
have been clued into a sensation, it’s only
a matter of time before the bliss splits
lengthwise and shatters the giblets
from within, a process even more frightening
than one would think at the onset.

Myself, I prefer to stick with what I do best:
painting Portuguese on piers that had once
bustled with trade activity, now disconnected
from commerce yet occupying the same space anyhow.
We wasteful invaders–of course we must leave
the bones of our prior successes to rot
in plain sight, unadorned (aside from my scribbles).