POETRY 

Because Sesame Street

 

is a necessary evil… Yes

certain things in this world, like war and being irradiated

by the cell phone and Elmo

 

leading your children away

like an iridescent pied piper

 

can’t be avoided.

The kids are going to find all three

and keep seeking ‘til they get ‘em… 

 

                                                                        sometimes, if you can avoid it

 

it’s better not to put words to things.

If you could be the size of a kid again…

In as large a state of wonder…

 

Wherein corridor for instance was like St. Peter’s in Rome on the inside,

you’d see that, POOF!  Words and labels

reduce experience.

 

Yet the world will have its monsters

even cute, flourescent and freakishly literate ones. 

                        My perfect unfolding,

 

my two-year old boy

puts on a cd, just like Daddy does,

though he scratches it quite a bit more. 

 

It whirs, and still spits out some Sesame Street songs.

 

                                    “I Love Trash”

                                    Then,

                                    “Oscar’s Junk Band.”

 

“Occa’s Junt Ban again!” he manages

We spend an eternity in a loop,

a spiral,

 

a circling deeper and deeper.

This loving-it-more-and-more-each-time

is not an evil, nor could it ever be.

 

I have digested my boy and myself and Sesame Street too.

I have spit out the evil.

There is a message from the universe in this event.

 

Somewhere

above heaven, I think,

the GREAT BEING is cupping

 

What I can only grasp to be hands…

Around what I can only grasp as mouth…

Calling down to us through what we refer to as the stars…

 

 

                        “PAY GARBAGE MEN MORE MONEY!”

 

 

Ah!  It is just! 

Anyone who’s ever had a boy in a town anywhere

knows that it’s just.

 

Who fascinates more than Grandpa or bakery ladies or Spongebob Squarepants?

Who winks and smiles a more scintillating smile

When you and baby boy wave?

 

That’s right!  Imagine our anguish

If the garbage couldn’t afford to work anymore.  Now a days

As it is, they live in over-crowded apartments

 

And can’t afford a mortgage.

Don’t give me that line that they didn’t go to University.

University is one of those places

 

Where people go who figure out how to get you to buy more devices

that’ll irradiate your eyeballs

gonads and children and where most of the money goes to the sports

 

and T.V. industries anyway,

which are only “necessary,” by the way, cause people

think they are.

 

Getting the trash out?

Now that is necessary.  No one can argue here,

Even if you’re a hermit.  When the garbage men of the body go on strike

 

You get constipated.  Sick.

Become a grouch and somehow me and Oscar

And Buddy Boy know this:

 

We take in Goodies at our ease, good stuff and sometimes junk too. 

We like good old fashioned nonradioactive equipment.

We eat up the stuff that touches our hearts and minds,

 

eat grapes and pear, and watermelon; get real, real good and clear

So that the shit

Doesn’t stick to us. 

© 2020 Matthew J. Gibbons