The Neighborhood

The revolution started because of a

polar bear costume rented by a Dog who

believed the rebirth of our nation was

held in the hands of a stripper standing in a hurricane

naked and knee deep in Jell-o pudding snacks

falling off the truck of love into the shallow pool

of self-loathing.

This was when the wolves were quiet and Dog’s howled

for a drink that quenches heartache and loneliness

while standing on a broken bar stools

made of kicked wood/cracked leather/worn steel nails,

all this Dog could do to keep from crazy

was to wash his thoughts like the Chinese man washes

his sidewalk.

He purchased an electric leaf blower

for his San Francisco front yard that only needs a rake,

his neighbor bought 25 horsepower lawn mower,

so he ran back to womb of consumerism to buy himself

the biggest most bad ass bitch’n machine

a ride on lawn mower… that he must drive in the streetto

turn around.

That Dog ran under the wheels of a truck,

loaded college students bound for Tijuana

didn’t realize he was committing suicide,

he knew the shinny glass across the street

filled with a cool liquor on a hot desert day

would probably rot his liver but was worth

every risk.

The drunk dog who followed the Marke

holding glasses of scotch/vodka/gin

was buried in a cemetery who advertised

on a stray newspaper at the back of the 38.

The coupon read: Buy one plot get another plot

free (of equal or lesser value) and She decided

to do it.

The girl cried when she found her Dog’s grave

and then the hurricane started ripping through houses,

frightening the neighbor with the lawnmower,

making children question what they do not know

because their innocence is a weather balloon

waiting for the turbine of a jet engine to suck it in,

spiting out confetti to rain down on the masses,

who have not seen innocence since they themselves

were children.