Primetime Jabberwock, Harry Didn’t Clown Around

“Don't want your love anymore,
don't want your kisses that's for sure,
I die each time I hear this sound…”
-- Everly Brothers, 1960

Let's not get mathy Cathy or walk

away Resnais but Colonel Tibbets’

Enola Gay thunderous mushroom

fireburst above Hiroshima mon amour

41 days before I’m born instantly

zapped 79,831, perhaps somewhat

more than a third of that once

gorgeous city’s population --

it was filmed for our viewing

pleasure by a companion B-29

ironically named Necessary Evil

-- then events following in forms

of radiation sicknesses turned

out to be inconceivably worse.

Hibakusha (被爆者) is the word for

surviving victims who witnessed purest

whitest brightest radiance ever -- including

infinite children whose shadow scorched

sidewalk silhouettes playing Red/ Green

Light plus Hangman were scaffolding

for images Give ‘Em Hell Truman from

the Show Me State used to impress Soviets

with the absurd atomic score, damage

you could avoid -- and to get elected Prez

instead of appearing weak if he gave

Hirohito’s staff half a chance to surrender

after observing a plutonium Big Boy dress

rehearsal’s coming attraction offshore.

Septuagenarian’s Stroller Soundtrack

“Oh well, I roam from town to town
I go through life without a care
And I'm as happy as a clown
I with my two fists of iron

And I'm going nowhere”

--Dion, The Wanderer

6AM, #4 grandson,

I have less energy than

for 1-3 with 5 on its way

so get back in training begging

Fed Ex plus garbage trucks,

maybe a Sam Trans driver

to wave till yellow

school buses begin to

appear in around an hour.

We stop at a local

coffee hangout to enjoy

peeps and eat fried holes

(please do not

tell my daughter

who will only see/ know

about blueberries

unless he suddenly

is able to say, Donut)

then watch meows

sleep in the closed shop

bow-wows get prettified

next to the barber pole

next to the tattoo parlor

next to the curb where Liav

feigns interest

in a crushed snail

while sneaking caca

in an already soaked

diaper after which we

race home for also a change

of onesies, fast global wash,

pop in high chair, organic milkie,

yogurt, toaster oven grilled cheese

on 100% whole wheat before

morning-sick Mommy wakes

like an inspecting drill sergeant.

Clownpourri

i. Doors To Der Stürmer’s Hitler D'oh!

-- thanks to Sacha Baron Cohen and The Simpsons

Dancehall mechanical bulls

do the nasty with anti-Semites

who raise both hands while mewling

something about, Throw that damn Jew

down our oil wells; while surly bartenders

invoke Krusty The Clown (a.k.a. Herschel

Shmoikel Pinchas Yerucham Krustofsky)

as jukeboxes whine out soul songs full

of pedal-jack boot guitar and Homer

cries into his beer about answering

one game show question wrong

regards North Dakota’s capital.