BY HARRY WALTZMAN
My poetry is pumped up by smog and mercury.
my lines stretch like knotted rubber bands. I wish
there was more horseradish in my life instead of
sugar-coated cereal. Corn syrup thins my blood.
Salt and pepper preserve my tongue. Honest
decay, skunk stink tosses my breath. I feel faint
but stench from fish boxes revives me. Combat
oils my brain. I chew on toastees and poptarts.
I lurch on a tree-sprung path diverging below
a giant wasp’s nest my son battered to shreds
this morning. I rely on an owl and ten sparrows
to shore up the eaves of my house
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