THREE POEMS W/OUT AN OZ. OF CRISPINESS

SQUID

I have given
a great deal
of thought
as to why
they are
removing all
the guts from
that squid on
television.

I think it may
be all we have
left in the world
which has disappeared
except for the squid,
the knives, a few
men and a camera

And I guess a television
transmitter of some sort.

And us, too. The viewers.
It’s the day of the
Mark of the Beast
and all that jazz. All
gone, like last drops
milk from a baby's cup.
So, If that’s it, that’s that,
then we certainly don’t need
to see squid guts. Let’s go
out for an ice cream
cone. Oh, that’s right.

Well then, let’s see what’s
up with the squids.


GRANDMA

I always shied away
from Grandma
Moses. It’s because
I was shy and because

I didn’t think it was
right that “Grandma”
and “Moses” should
be in the same name.
It's wrong and funny.

What can I do?
Either laugh, or worship
her. But I don’t like

Her paintings. The first
ones she mounted in
drug stores. Not sexually.
She was a woman of
faith. I didn’t mean

To suggest...

I don't kneel near paintings

And it's hard to pray
in drugstores

"Her primitive paintings captured
the spirit and preserved the scene
of a vanishing countryside..."

Before the sea parted and the
countryside disappeared


TED

Strolling through a book
as though I was in a field
of daisies on a lazy summer
day reading a book, I
discovered that my

son was born on the same
day as Heavy Metal Cross-
Bow Hunting Rock Star
what’s-his-name. It was

the best day of my life.
It was the best day of his
life. It was a great day
for thrashy heavy metal.
It was a great day for ears.
And amps. And
arrows that kill deer. They
look up and say “Whaa–”
and then nothing. It was a
great day for the word
WHAA–.


all artwork, except likenesses of Lyndon B. Johnson, by Crispy Flotilla ® 2006