Tuesday, October 13, 2009

Picnic

My son came to me, beleaguered
“Pa, may I beg of you: a taco”
you understand, he is medical
and my wife, she gives him candy.
My son, he has diabetes by the gallon
and he smells all of reptiles.

Oh my lovelies, the reptiles
each one more beautiful than a lady beleaguered.
My prized lizard, kept within an empty milk gallon
stuffed with the meat of an authentic Mexican taco.
She is my candy.
Yes, I have seen the medical

professionals, how they use their medical
implements to distract me from mine reptiles.
How their breasts coated in sugar, like sour candy
swing low over my beleaguered
form confined to my bed and my taco.
They drain my semen by the gallon.

And they sell it! By the gallon!
And though they label it for medical
use, I saw one spread it over a taco.
And feed it to my reptiles.
My poor and beleaguered
wife, she begs for papa’s candy.

The doctors forbid her this, my candy.
For she drinks whisky by the gallon,
and her frail, beleaguered
liver: it is quite a medical
marvel. It resembles a bag of dying reptiles
or a warm and soggy taco.

I did allow my son a taco,
may it keep him from his candy!
And may he leave me to my reptiles.
For I have sorrows by the gallon.
And when I speak to the medical
men what crowd me, they only sigh, beleaguered.

And so I too am beleaguered, and soft as a fresh taco.
My medical bills taste nothing of candy
and so I swig from my wife’s gallon, and taste my sweetest reptiles.

No comments: