by Brian Beatty
Berrigan's Unwritten Saturday Morning Epithalamion
Underdog unbunches two actresses' undies,
then suggests, "How about let's discuss this fuss in bed?"
Though wooed -- it's true! -- and unwed, neither fucks cartoons.
So he buries his bone up the bride's dress instead.
Then apologizes afterwards to her groom.
Cue his out-of-sync '60s soundtrack.
Now quit it -- he can't think.
His apartment's fake leather furnishings stink.
He finishes a grilled-cheese and Pepsi found in the fridge.
Prays his services won't be further required today. He feels sick.
He remembers when Hollywood's leading harlots cooed, "Ooh, Underdog!"
But these days he's lucky to land a date,
even as the mild-mannered Shoeshine Boy.
He wonders, does Miss Polly Purebred secretly masturbate?
Otherwise how is it she's been able to fend off his superpowerful paws?
Before You Were Born
Days there was nothing to do,
avant-garde Little League games.
Unfortunately, my dream of pranking movement
headquarters made the 6 o'clock news, sandwiched between
the weather report and a touching story about a family's collection
of "I ? Pancakes" hats.
I was shamed
from the mountaintop after that.
Even the cryptic notes I'd been writing
for future biographers were embarrassing to me now.
The bearded ladies bake enough
cornbread to feed Heaven's everybody.
Unfortunately, it's cartoon time,
to be followed by hammering and a nap --
all to the accompaniment of banjo music.
Angels or not, nobody automatically swoons.
WAR! || BROKEN NEWS || CRITIQUES & REVIEWS || CYBER BAG || EC CHAIR || FICCIONES
THE FOREIGN DESK || GALLERY || LETTERS || POESY || SERIALS || STAGE & SCREEN || ZOUNDS
Exquisite Corpse - If you experience difficulties with this site, please
contact the webmistress.