By Dalton Derkson
are you thinking of a man?
was this man born some time ago?
was this man a smoker?
a man who could roll a bull durham
with one hand til some cancer
took both his,
so now he’s workin on a way
to lose his tongue, extracting
wads of chew from the tin
nd emptyin it out so clean
you’d figure the gal at the esso
sold him a dud?
are you thinking of a treadmill?
well not a treadmill exactly,
but another something like it?
one that’s not yet been said,
if there is such a thing —
how about an incline stepper?
how about a tony little gazelle?
how about a george foreman grill
that doesn’t extract the grease
nd instead just cooks it
from liquid to molten paste ad nauseum.
so the selling point is that you don’t have to wait
for whatever yer breathing in or stepping on
or sucking back to kill ya.
you just turn the dial to kervorkian
nd wait for the little green light
to come on nd problem solved.
no more ‘have you heard this one’s.
no more stepping on toes.
no more stealing ideas.
no more waiting
nd beckoning upon yr O CAPTAIN
to give forth what he bringeth for thee:
a lovely little something
bulging his front pocket
brought just for you
are you thinking of walt whitman?
are you thinking of shakespeare
caught in a tree like a cat?
are you thinking of the cartoon firemen
attempting to put me out?