The tight knot never stopped Wiley Coyote from falling off a cliff
into a valley or being crushed by a rolling boulder.
nor did the rocket skates, the roman candles, spring powered shoes
and pure penis envy, for that matter. Had he a gun, I am afraid the
cerebral cortex, or the cerebellum would be caked in dust, or mopped
across the linoleum on some poor poets kitchen floor like lilac
scented soap.
Had he a knife, I fear the ribcage and heart would go
quickly, like a bird in an open cage.
We must thank Acme, for his compressed vertebrae, bruised hips,
broken limbs and bulging eyes and of course his ever shrinking ego.
Because. They know youth, and what kills it.
About the author:
I recently graduated Umass Amherst, and now I am waiting tables while I prepare for grad school.
