Wednesday, April 10, 2013


The 'Brazilian rat' was fed steroids at birth and groomed so that it resembled a toy poodle
The news of this Argentine Ferret Poodle has screwed me up. So I wrote a poem about it.


I bought a toy

poodle then learned it

was a ferret on

steroids. What I thought

was a pizza was

only bread covered

with ketchup. I ate it anyway.

I drive this car to work.

Come to find out

it’s not a car but

a motorized skateboard

encased in plexiglass,

which is not really plexiglass

but translucent candy shells,

which aren’t really edible

but poisonous, which isn’t

really all that dangerous,

or is it? At work my boss

is really somebody else’s boss

pretending to be my boss.

Turns out I may in fact

be my own boss.

My cubicle?

A cardboard box covered in fabric.

When I’m stressed, I listen

to the radio, though I just heard

my stress is really joy

turned inside out

and this song is nothing but

the hissing of snakes.

Snakes really are snakes.

I am feeling sad about all this

but how do I know it’s sadness?

It could be happiness smeared with mud.

It could be happiness smeared with blood

colored brown to resemble mud.

The poem I’ve been typing?

Not really a poem. Prose.

This realization that this poem is prose

is more like an ah-ha gotcha! moment

than anything else. And anything else?

Anything else could really be

everything else, which is to say

it could just as easily be

nothing at all.

To be, I am finding out, is

not to be.

To be is to be duped

and isn't to be duped

the goal we seek?

Don't we close our eyes

to complain about the dark?


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Susan said...

I like this poem.

GoFigure said...

This is a wonderful freaking poem!