Wednesday, April 4, 2012


Pandora’s Box

Green beans relished last night does not suggest
tonight should be blessed with asparagus,
reviled limp stalks, nor a morning hike down

a path through a stand of virgin white pine
equals a death defying dodge along
eight lanes of retail and chains sprouted full

from some long gone farmer’s section of corn,
examples of an unwelcome slumming
algorithm, the crest of a railer

bearing down on the last stretch of white sand
digital free beach, hammock strung between
bent palms, umbrella drink served by a pert

Gaugin waitress, an image I summoned
for one brief moment supine in a chair
in my dentist’s office before being

distracted by the hygienist’s offer
of Pandora, deep well of every song
known to mankind, at my service but for

a simple declaration, a statement
of personal musical preference,
a promise of tunes within my comfort

zone, numbing like curare without the
unpleasant side effects.  When I failed to
answer promptly she pegged me with a glib

nod, clicked on Classic Rock, then proceeded 
to scrape and stab my gums in perfect four 
four time, Any Way You Want It indeed. 

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