Kinetic Poem #482
I sat there looking at the mushroom.
It's name was Hank and it liked Cuban cigars,
Racy ferns, San Francisco steambaths, and flashy cars.
Wassup Hank? Yo, you mushroom-head!
Hank only smiled his Mona Lisa-mushroom smile,
Shaking spores around the room as he sprayed,
Cheap disinfectant purchased from a seedy dollar-store,
Around the room, adopting the airs of Howard Hughes.
Cigar smoke swam through the tepid atmosphere,
And outside old men hunkered on the asphalt,
Discussing the diaspora and waiting for the long, sleek,
Limosines to roar around the corner and run them down.
They brought lawn chairs because they sometimes had to wait,
A long, long, long, long time before the limosines obliged them.
But Hank wasn't worried.
Dry bloodspots on the pavement marked the spots of old men's,
Past triumphant victories.
Victories and Cuban cigars...
Ahhhh. Life is sweet. |
