sour & sassy



Gimme liberty or gimme debt relief, just gimme a minute to sell my soul. And the jerks who cut me off in the left-turn lane, I’m gonna brain them with a painful frying pan, as I’m a man who can’t stand breaches of roadway etiquette, what with the charcoal briquette bought recently sitting in a truck, enough to remind me of my down-on-my-luckedness, or the awoken consciousness of the quaking Loch Ness wildebeest, the rising of the dough despite the paucity of yeast, syndication tips from mafia poolies or strip-tease teenagers, harbingers of gentrification or democratic condescension. And the younger ones are dismissed as ignorant of this, so it’s left up to seniors to calibrate the nation, but they’re wearing adult diapers—so that’s love they won’t be making.

I called you Fiona but you shat on my shoes, so I picked up my guitar and drizzled some blues; I am Sad Stan Wild, the October child, a mild-mannered trucker carting goods to this the electric river of indifference, and I’m sucking on my thumb but you don’t even mind, I am sour ever after as I peel the lemon rind. And daily nightmares jostle me to sleep, but the incubus are stinky—they refuse to wash their feet; so I'm gorging on platefuls of veggie crudité, while the erudite librarians are haggling over the Dewey Decimal Festival protocol, and sheesh, man, I tell ya, “manic, mercurial, ocean-parting” Moses knows where I put his clothes: it's a place behind the stairs, where the crackhead hellcat women stare, laughing so politely and wishing I was there.


Here’s to sunshine and motherhood and flowers on Father’s day: I'm against all manner of sullenness, in favour of silliness, I’m here proclaiming symphony, announcing a race to the top of knolls, to place a flag atop a pole, to suck a jelly donut hole; smiles follow frowns, they circle around, and upside down, they make a person whole.

On with the fun you humbug huns--let’s fire up the Barbie; call your gravy baby and purchase some wieners, and send your nice dress to the cleaners, as we watch the Saturday evening Cleveland Steamers: tonight we are the Daring Dream-Schemers. And as rays of light shine out my ass, exposing dumbass twits, I notice your girlfriend Velma, she makes you happy--and what a pair of tits!

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