Monday, June 24, 2002

Life on earth did not much agree
with Rufus McGee
and Magilicutty Sneed.
Two young boys, American as can be:
American as trees, or Apples Dupree.
On summer days they dreamed,
on winter nights they schemed,
lying there on their
flat-slanted backs,
staring up at
the clouds in great number,
shivering and cursing
the humorless cold,
and wishing they hadn’t slept through summer.

They would’ve rafted down the river like gall stones in a liver,
carefree as retards on a home-fashioned raft,
except that they lived down the river three blocks and a sliver
from a factory that made cheese dust for Kraft.
So instead of paddling and singing about eyes that were stinging
as the chemicals burned and melted their boat,
they wrote. And wrote and wrote.
They wrote entire novels, McGee and Sneed,
they copied them word for precise word
from paperback Jurassic Parks to a biography of Larry Bird.

They wrote until their hands were cramped
and they ran out of paper.
They wrote until their backs malformed
and spines began to taper.
They wrote until their teachers quit
and declared that they were crazy.
They wrote until the sun went down
and Rufus’ eye went lazy.

The townsfolk said enough’s enough:
you two should join the Navy.
And though the boys were, as you know, American as Apple Gravy
they wouldn’t dream to rock the boat, or rocket foreign peoples,
so instead they staged a peace protest
and wrote a book on steeples.
Finally, the town got pissed, and sealed them in a rocket
to blast them into deepest space’s deepest darkest pocket.
They set the date and set out to launch Prototype XL25K
(the rocket they’d been saving up for such a rainy day).

In went McGee, in went Sneed,
with a potted plant and a box of crackers:
For Sneed was known to have a green thumb
and McGee was quite the snacker.
They sealed up the rocket, cleared the platform,
and began the countdown proper:
It started at ten and ended at one, and then zero was the topper.
And at that instant a pick-up truck
dragged the rocket into the river,
where it sank like a stone, with a splash and a moan
and something of a sideways quiver.
The town stopped to savor what they’d done as a favor:
the boys from their torment were freed!
What’s that? You thought the rocket ship real?
So did McGee. So did Sneed.

Do Not Disturb
Combustible rustable grannies come marching in waves from the caves with their zinc eyebrows arching, in tunics with tonics electric on their lips, cities of biddies descend on our ships.

Dinner Date
Swizzle-stick me in a jar, mastodons in foreign cars. Oh what lovely buggering bubbly sex shows on starships tonight!

Drink a Toast to the Liver
Consider once the lonely liver, liver of a life deemed lower, by those organs hip and trendy, who might be smaller or more bendy.

The Rickles
The Rickles like tickles and pickles and pee. The Zicklers are sticklers for conformity. The Mounces eat rayguns, the Olaffs smoke brie. Where did they all come from? Beats the crap out of me.