when bobble doll met fabric queen
that there was the culture of the 50's
the tragic tormented technicolor movies
everything kept secret, taboo and obscene
(interestingly, even then, things held a lot more mystery
making secret concoctions in the midst of mad-scientist laboratories
of bleak b-movies when the enemy arrived in the form of monster-
martian from outer-space to contaminate and infiltrate main street)
when a ball of fire came down and white birches begin blushing
mind your own beeswax
a couple martinis
at the end of
the after-work party
ike resembling mr. clean
who would clean up everything
heal all worrying & suffering & misery
the morton salt girl, coppertone girl
with drawers drawn down to shore
to make sure your sunburn
when it rains it pours...
as it all comes down in the form of a mute primal-scream
sylvia plath sticking her head from the microwave
down the grave to fatefully meet her destiny
all the pools are above ground
and the nights are long
and culture is dairy queen
which is all fine and dandy
cause the smells are heavenly
and maybe just maybe you might get a b.j.
heard they gave a lot of those away in the 1950's
due to certain social and cultural moires of things
you were allowed to do and not allowed to do before marriage...
(in marriage, the man and woman battle over the most tedious of things
yet it seems, during that phase of courting and dating it was these tedious things...
make sure in seeing a shrink, he has a nice and pleasing voice, like a soothing play-
by-play color-commentator and it is someone you can trust like a good auto-mechanic
as it is often so difficult to manage to find one, mind you, a combination of both...)
you stand like a monster at midnight, naked, half-baked, caked in your refrigerator light
like the man on the moon, hoping that a carton of cool milk might help to ease the mind i
