Monologue with a tall, blonde doorstop
Who swallows cynicism like a python:
Wrap the ham sandwiches to go, baby,
Because there’s thirty miles of terror
Yawning before us like an e
Or a hatch you can’t batten down
For all the monkeys in the trees
Or the bees around you knees
Left supine in the great chalky absence
Of your hifalutin, rootin’ tootin’ escapade
Known as the Super Bowl half-time show
Or the last public execution in Kentucky,
Whichever comes first which reminds me
How can you arrive when you never came?
How can you still trust this gullible world
Putting your mouth to God’s ear?