Lost In the Corn Maze
Skirt the bone yard where hi-def reflecting
pools draw men bent on upgrade before the
Super Bowl, mesmerized spelunkers
yearning for the safety of equipped caves.
Walk newly sewn rows of printer paper
by the case, flexible kitchen faucets,
compartmentalized see-through plastic bins,
sarcophagi for photos of grandma,
kids and dogs, cyclonic vacuums that pry
lodged microbes free, half dozen count cases
of 5-W 30 synthetic
motor oil to keep in the back of a
ring-shot ten year old Subaru Outback,
gleaming caskets, transport pods bound for the
other side and safety ladders decaled
up and down with tales of peril and hold-
harmless disclaimers in several tongues.
A Garden of Eden bordered by a
suburb of booze, Levittown in gallon
jugs and mesas of cases of Baddass
Beer. The devout queue, Holy Communion,
transsubstantiated deli snacks laid
on extended tongues. Oceans of bleach and
tides of laundry soap slosh in a corn maze
platted by a farmer driven mad with
Echinacea, available in depth-
charge size containers in Personal Care.
Leave behind this Vale of Tears, submit to
a cleansing scan. Shrek scale cart bearing gifts
to gods sitting judgment in the snack court.
December 5, 2011