Don’t get me started



Bearded ladies sprung from Hades,
singles night with my fright wig askew, who asked you
to dance; wallflower power and a rope-a-dope fro,
wide white belt and a Lake Michigan smelt sammich,
did me some damage like an Asian Carp on the fly
or a longhorn beetle drive-by on 123 Dutch Elm Lane.


Asian carp and a pint of Harp, shot glass of bones,
foaming at the mouth, had the Dirty South steam-cleaned,
screened for melanoma, Mellencamp devoured by cougars (not Courtney Cox),
lox-and-bagel flavored Fiddle Faddle,
paddling in the kiddie pool–come to a shallow end.


Something wicked this way comes:
Invasive species sprung loose from their leashes–
Kudzu, zebra mussels, Asian Carp, Beverly Hills’ Chihuahuas;
Plastic lasses with gastric bands; spastic lactic acid lap dances;
stochastic Futureworld sunglasses;
heart bypasses on highway cloverleafs
got a few beefs with an Asian Carp–
Don’t get me started.