Poem

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.