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Trapped in a Boat That Can't Swim (Weekend at a Fall Outdoor Art Show)
[Muskallonge State Park, September 14-15, 2013]

Smellsee bleusky day for vendors-buyers same-same,
Tarpstalls cobbled-up, numbered orderly
Human traffic milling parcgrounds with purpose
Examining naked merch displayed
Atop woodbox pedestals to show off tits, teeth,
Bulging muscles, supple hands known to sew well,
All selling points accentuated here,
All must go, make thy bid, you never seen
Hips begging to deliver babies, increase
Your stock like a clock, every eleven months
You’re buying future returns here, profits
For you lineage, wife, many progeny.
This scrivener’s reverie not reality
Salves offered here agaty, flinty-dry
No bodies, only rocks wax-tarted for quick sale,
This plein air mart offers hot dogues, Karnal Korn
To ancient snowhairs trundling in mass grindom
You seen the pitchers of all our grandkittles,
Them greats upon great-greats, great-greats times greats
All purses filled with grandkid pictures
Greats, the grand gris-gris juju for grandparents,
Resplendent in dresses with pressed shirts,
Collars and bleu djins presaged for ego buys
Life here reduced to weekends hawking dead rocks
To dying ancients pushing wheelie walkers
No morality issues hanging overhead
Cashflow calculations, walletpurse fumbling,
I close my eyes, try to smell olive-oiled slaves,
Slutsty pirate wenches sweating rum and sex.
Alas, only grandmapas ape-grinning others
Searching for vendors selling rosbif tenders;
Our dentures, you know, so dang-damn pricy
Insurance don’t pay for replacement parts no more.
The wife remembers the life Superior shore
All romance now stripped down to sales receipts
From tight-fisted octogenarians.
Hands on glowing smart-phone gizmo gewgaws
A great blue cloud seen electronically
Looms mean-eyed with menace in the near west
A woman tells me her son is finishing
His first tour as a chopper door gunner,
Has matured considerably about things,
Not so his dolly wife, we think and two kiddies.
Window-looking, mouth-breathing palid collossi
Sucking air, life’s freebie, like hawkmoths on blooms
Circling, yakking mumpitz like mandarin pearls.
Shopkeeper genes seem to have missed my helix:
Location, location, location.
Don’t believe, ask that famed assjacket Custer.
At least we leave this fiasco alive.

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Copyright 2008 Joseph Heywood. Design by C Marschke.