By Michael Aaron Gallagher
[Tokens for the ride
Choices left and cast aside]
Posh country clubs & scratchy voices
Ride around in leather Rolls Royces
It’s really kinda sick
How every one of them’s a lunatic
on a pogo stick.
Talk to ya later, Operator
C’mon, let’s ride up & down on the elevator.
Sometimes it’s sorta creepy
That everyone is kinda sleepy
I like them purple fleeces
Not as much as the candy coated pieces.
At least they’re not as short as all them dresses
That everyone messes with & presses.
They say that thing is aggravating
But I’m still not sure if
maybe it’s a bit captivating.
Ghetto blaster — must go faster!
Hey, Big Leaguer — overeager.
Must be briefer, little reefer.
Big red wagon,
“Hop on, Dragon.”
Hello, Caffeine
Are you laughing?
Look at Maggie,
Ain’t she baggy?
Hello, Friar — big fat liar
What happened to your pacifier?
Hello, Mr. Clown — so upside down
I saw you splash in Chinatown
Don’t be sour,
You’re white as flour
‘See you in another hour
They say it’s very healthy
To be wealthy & not cry
Don’t be shy!
Do The Disco — licking Crisco
Way out West in San Francisco.
I’m sure you’re missing all that kissing
Oh that icing is enticing
“Fried Okra” the joker
lost at poker
Five games in a row
Hello, Pretty Glow.
What a nice collar you elegant scholar
If I had me one I’d give you a dollar
Hello, Mr. Plumber
Hello, Mr. Drummer
And what do ya know,
I found Mr. Summer.
Hello, Mrs. Lovespell
Fell down the stairwell
Oh what a yell!
from your tiny nutshell.
Strange, what a notion,
We shan’t swim the ocean,
But maybe we’ll ride on a stiff locomotion.
Don’t stare at the sun
You’re done, Cinnamon
“Hello, Hello,” to Everyone.
Excerpt from The Windmill (literary magazine, Spring 1999). This poem also appears in Michael Aaron Gallagher’s unpublished book of poetry titled “Worn-Out Cinema.” Copyright © 1999.
The above work is not to be used, reprinted or broadcast without written permission from the author.