TO THE SPAWNING
We found him over at O’Hare
running up the down escalator
wearing a gigantic salmon suit.
When we pulled off his headpiece
the guy was sweating like a bear
in the desert, and he was wailing.
Hours later, we got it on the radio—
there actually was another salmon,
waiting around at the wrong terminal.
IN THE EVENT THAT YOU ARE UNEMPLOYED TO DEATH
Stovetop popcorn and hand-rolled cigarettes will gild your passage through the current economic crisis. You will disintegrate, graciously, into Charley from Alaska’s couch and into the sunset over a colonial cemetery. A pelican that passes overhead may happen to inhale the smoke but will not experience whist or consider its own context in American history. Sugar may be sprinkled over the popcorn once the oil sizzles to create the illusion of carnivals. A rose may be grabbed out of nature and handed to the prettiest individual at the carnival, or if a rose cannot be located, one acceptable and inexpensive substitute is secretly home-popped popcorn. Unpopped kernels left untended may flee back into Charley’s cupboard, flipping their brown little wings, to chew up everybody’s cereal and laundry, and so it behooves you always to leave the popcorn on the stove until each of the kernels has popped. You are also encouraged to note that rose bushes are not permissible in the cemetery and will be confiscated from the grave.
About Steve Subrizi