The first time I visited Joe,
I pulled into the driveway
and spotted him in the garage,
so of course I approached
even though his back was turned.
I wasn’t expecting the guzzling
sound — when he stepped aside
the fizz from that beaker
stunned me — overflowing
might be an understatement.
I gasped and Joe faced me in a suit
rivaling an astronaut chef
and I was already done
but he wasn’t. He lifted his visor,
grinned like a monkey, and waved
in the direction of his project.
I backed away. “I don’t want to know.”
“The scanner says…”
“JOE! I don’t want to know.”
First and only visit, might I add.
He read a buttercup
to find his love
He headed to the Everglades
and tracked her down
He offered his umbrella
during a downpour
Now they own a Keurig
what kind of a cowpoke does that?
If you can contain the contamination
to the cube, maybe we can criminalize
the creepy creep who uncaged
the common, cancerous contaminant and —
Joe, you might be trying too hard.
I’m trying to write a sci-fi novel in verse.
Like I said.
what if holes appeared in one of the pyramids?
what doctor would they call?
imagine that diary entry:
Dear Diary, today I tried to save a pyramid.
It was too late. The thieves had already
gotten in. I did manage to keep one team
from getting out, however. Not my original
plan but hey, I’ll take it.
I dream of surgery that slices
the muffins and burritos
off my stomach, and I donate
the fat to a starving child
Then I have a nightmare
in which the government
creates an agency to decide
who has this surgery,
who doesn’t, who receives
the benefit, who starves
And I wake up cold.