somewhere….out in the country, or even the city…it is raining poetry. Poetry from the sky, poetry on the slippery grass, poetry even when I slip…
…but mainly, there is poetry in my brain…the contents of which are cataloged in gray matter, or the “little grey cells,” as Master Poirot would say…
lodging somewhere in a more dusty area of that said library, under “i” for “interesting,” a rather banally ubiquitous category, one might find discarded portions of poetic raindrops that never fell to the earth. instead, the mind locked them within those long corridors, hiding them in the “fragment repository” rather than “special collections.”
some of these fragments have found daylight, scribbled on a note paper. it was my habit, in my middle youth, to keep paper and pencil beside my bedside every night…just in case, inspiration hit at 2 am. more often than not, the writing resembled a doctor’s orders, although scribbling snippets did manage to escape the trash bin for a proper college ruled page.
one of those treasures was a nonsense poem composed after a bizzare dream. it remains locked in my head because it was and is entirely too silly to publish…but now, i have no fear…
O, Buttercup Bill got quite a thrill
from chewing on vittles and sticks,
he made his meals with the flippers of seals
and flavored his salad with bricks.
it is, simply, the most ridiculous and bizzare thing I have ever written…and it came after a night of pizza and Double Cola.
for those of you who do not know what Double Cola is…
1. it looks like liquid battery acid, or maybe tastes a bit like it?
2. it contains more caffeine per ounce than any fizzy drink made before the advent of energy drinks. Double Cola’s only rival, from the same company is “Ski”, a drink where you can watch the caffeine-orange pieces float around inside the bottle.
3. drinking an eight pack of double cola (within a twelve hour period) will either (a) slur your speech (b) keep you up at least 72 hours (c) work like a coffee enema (d) induce projectile vomiting OR (e) bloat you up like a toad on steroids
But…in fairness, nightly semi-digested pizza has created many a crazy poem, television sitcom script, and presidential address over the past fifty or sixty years. in fact, every poem i have ever written following pizza-ingestion has turned out terrible, or at least a bit cheesy. that is why i gave up eating pizza for lent, post-lent, spring, summer, autumn, winter, and Groundhog Day.
So, since I no longer drink Double Cola, and I have abstained from pizza for about a year, the world is now safe from at least one more horrific poem.