A man hung from a
tiny parachute
drops into the
darkness of an umbrella stand,
and the strange
thing is that
this takes place
in your foyer near the shoes
and under hatrack.
Should one of those toppers
slip from a nub as
(let’s face it) hats sometimes do,
the man might be
forgotten, entombed
inside an empty
death hollow.
Such a man might
survive for some time
in the darkness,
having no drink or grub, but
at a point the
throat tires of the screams, the body
feels depleted and
the mind,
once capable of
such pretty feats,
succumbs to the
heavy black.
And at that very
moment, the tv
in the next room
is playing reruns
of Ozzie Nelson
asking Thorny
that question that
seems to stump us all:
Say you’re driving your
car
and you’re supposed to
stop and wait
at every red light. What if
you see a lantern?
And that little
man who has long-since eaten
every last string
and parachute shred
says You think
YOU’VE got problems.
