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.