Song of The Hoarse Bullhorn Holder
I eviscerated Vince, my prized pig, to calm the churning sea
of unnamed pigs. Anonymous wave hooves, you’re welcome.
Then I eviscerated myself. Waving blue ribbons, you’re welcome.
Both times it was hard to keep pressure on the blade once the tip
was in. A nursing student helped me finish the job. Faceless
white uniform, you’re welcome. This poem’s for you. This new
mirrored manicure’s for you. No matter what the newscast says,
there’s only one spaceship big enough for all of us, including
the ever-cool beast with feathered hair so no sudden freak-outs,
nix on the flinching ‘til we’re belted in. “Ready for blast-off,
Chewie!” I tell him. “The name’s Vince,” he says, then, “and
you’re welcome.” I knew he looked familiar. He says more
stuff. I don’t listen. My mind’s fully occupied by the human
pyramid. It’s really coming together, out in my garage.