I was wonderin'
	where all the insipid
		top forty
			faery tales
				were born
Until I vegetated
	long
		for an afterthought
			at the local
				gristle mart
Waiting for a cashier
	to meander through
		the bar code bonanza
			slipping though the
				conveyor belt of his
					Zen
Catastrophe
	buried too deep within his brain
		for surface tension
To hold his thoughts
	together in one
		contorted piece
			consciousness
So he melted
	into tabloid
		color photographs
			picking evidence
				of unsolved
					mysteries
From his teeth
	while he chocked on
		air brushed
			cleavage
Too robust
	for credibility
His eyes
	glinted
		rhinestone
			plucked from
Dolly Parton's
Favorite
	parking slot
		at a trailer park
			designed by
Liberace
On a bad
	costume day
Then
	just as I started
		to read about
			Michael Jackson's
				nightmare
					Madonna
						seduction
Episode
	the bionic fetus
		grabbed my kippered
			curiosity
Fondling my
	Universal Bar Code
		with the serendipity
			of a gynecologist
				at a fundamentalist
Wives retreat
	and handed me
		my food
			for a politician's
				epithet
As I climbed
	down
		from my perch
			on the magazine
				rack



(c) 1997 James Oliver Smith, Jr