Mister Mei Locks The Cooler At Two

You come, come in my store, never 
look at me; red beady eye, lights up closed circuit 
TV. Only condensation is real! Sweating feel of tripping 
latch, reach for Keystone Light half rack like 
lime boysenberry ice cream, in pie case. I give good 
deal, good deal always no catch. Yet you come 
in my store, everything hard core cynical behind glass: 
porn mag, Skoal, ten dollar eye dropper for date rape, 
amyl nitrate popper. Sure you know my name by a sign 
on door, but never see my face; coming into store, linger for 
awhile in candy aisle: jolly rancher I let you slide, too many 
pockets, not enough smiles. As I ring up deodorant soap 
make little joke: Ah, Irish Spring manly for the ladies! Soon 
a line will form, be born like punks behind turnstiles, your 
fifties, and C notes shot by pneumatic tubes into under
ground safe, with tumblers and dials, get better odds 
on Lotto, petty cash the sliding glass doors. No need to look 
at me; it’s written already on invisible strips, your petite mal 
fits. Camera feels what you came in for, red eyes, red eyes in store. 
I know your name but it never, ever lasts, mister bill you don 
that ski mask, we all gone to war.

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Blues For Doctor Demento

Something was funny a while 
back, a lawn mower in mid 
November, kept hearing 

the drone, but was it 
four in the afternoon or 
the year before 
that? 

And remembering there might 
be a bit of relief, comic, a spot

like fingers of ginger ale turning 
flat but not stale, helium hiccups
goon kazoos and turkey gobbles 

arrived with a force of youth, 
they surprised, as dead leaves 
from a classic Wheaties box 
cover RCA dog on 
gramophone, when 

that drone cut 

out, but then came 
back again. 

Thoughts of dizzy spells 
in perpetuity, ancient FCC 
honchos morphed into friz-haired 
pensioners gumming the meat 
lovers’ pizza slice after slice after 
slice, mash up, and gnash, a hint 
of rice pap in the lip 

smack 

…just a bit

of On-Air 

thing, plum hysterical 
from only a little while 
back… but 

was it a lifetime, or the one 
before that? 

Girded your soul 
to a golden radio 

show, was what it basically 
was — happy happy Canada 
Dry at midnight; naught but 
dust motes ago, how flat 
the light in mid November 
that sunny November lawn 
mower drone, a funny 
thing it might never  

come back.

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Playlist

“Recap Modotti”, by Fugazi
 
“No Easy Action”, by Mark Lanegan
 
“St. Tropez”, by Pink Floyd
 
“Pulling Mussels From A Shell”, by Squeeze
 
“Razor Boy”, by Steely Dan

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