Saturday, February 11, 2012

Old poem, unpublished: To Orlando (The Love Song of Alfred J. Shitlips)

Oh fair skies, then overcast, then fair again,
all the while hot and sweaty like the balls
of a Mafioso.
(Pauly Walnuts, anyone?)

All the pastel colors in the world
are here.

Thunder crashes. Lightning rips
across the sky--travelling faster
than any neural network
remotely near.

My brains, aspirations
have turned to mush in this hot, humid Wonderland.

The microcosm of Disney, separated by tall fences
from the suburban wasteland.

If fences make good neighbors, then the nameless people
next door
and I
must be good neighbors.

The feet of the robot scuttle
over the deep bottom
of this chlorinated pool.

The pool boy came today. I called him
"cabana boy" by mistake. He smiled,
paying me no mind.
Once I was good enough to eat.

Now I am just old.
I haunt the aisle of prunes and dare to eat a peach.

7 comments:

Ideas Man, Ph.D. said...

Lovely.

Orlando is a weird place, but great if you like denim I guess.

christophresh said...

"All the pastel colors in the world
are here. "
When I was in Portland, I could wear whatever I wanted to my job.
One day I wore purple slacks, with a pink striped short-shirt:
I named the outfit "Springtime in Havana" but I was really thinking that someone would wear it in Florida (Miami, Orlando, whatever).
Your line above reminded me of that, that's all.
Did you 'pen' those lines yourself, Ashley?

DOCTOR J said...

Does this really (technically) constitute an "ode"? I wonder...

DOCTOR J said...
This comment has been removed by the author.
DOCTOR J said...

I think today is your birthday. Or maybe it's tomorrow.

Anyway, happy birthday, Chet!

DOCTOR J said...

I think today is your birthday. Or maybe it's tomorrow.

Anyway, happy birthday, Chet!

DOCTOR J said...

Hey Chet. I remember this. And I still like it a lot.