Er_si_g
M_. St_nisl_us Po_ch_gi_n,
image by Daniel Y. Harris
image by Daniel Y. Harris
SNOW JOB
I’ll go back—damn ye!—
to whatever time & place
I give a shit about:
LIKE SHOVELING SNOW.
Time? Place? TMI! You don’t need
to know. Chance of stopping me?
ZERO, ZILCH, NADA & NONE.
Blizzard over. Doorbell rings.
“Like your walk & driveway
shoveled?”
“How much?” “3 bucks.” “How bout 2?”
So I’ll be a-shovlin (damn ye!) and you
should kiss my 7-year-old-age-of-reason
arse for my service both to the
community
and to the Holy Ghost and his
Archangels.
Because Mr. Poochigian, who died from
an embolism Monday, was able to hobble
to Mass Sunday, so did NOT commit the
mortal sin that would’ve sent him to
hell
where he’d now be burning—Eternally!
For two bucks! Now that’s value.
Were he here
(thank whatever gods there be he
ain’t)—your
favorite pitchman would call that Big
Savings!
And here’s a 99% discount code if you
wish to take
advantage of this poem: 1234567. That’s
1234567.
Failed > Do the math, damn ye!
Bought 5 bags of M&Ms,
poets > (melted
in my mouth not in my hand), 4 boxes of
proudly > Good & Plenty, 3 Snickers, a box of Milk Duds,
call > 2 Bonomo Turkish Taffies (for my sister
Flavia),
this
> 7 Zagnuts, 3 O’Henry
bars, 4 boxes of Raisinets,
WASTE > 6 boxes of Canada Mints, and 8 packs of Chuckles
of
time > (ate red, green, yellow, orange; threw
licorice into
a
LIST! > the bushes while biking through Cedarbrook
park).
Studied > Do
the math, damn ye: 40 x .05¢ = 2 bucks.
TRIG at > Earnings
well spent—from our family dentist
MIT and
> Roy Sermak’s point of
view. Don’t waste time
passed > searching
for Roy on Facebook or AnyWho.
with a
> (He’d be 109 years
old, were he still alive,
D-minus > and would not be accepting
appointments.)
And if you’re a Montaigne-esque skeptic
& don’t believe I scraped Poochie’s
walk
clean-down to the last unique
snowflake
(actually, I found 2 that were utterly
alike)
and if you won’t admit value received
both
by the Pooch & me (that dark
wintry day)
then, damn ye, I have nothing more to
say!
Because you don’t have a
ghost-of-a-clue
as to how to evaluate—A SNOW JOB.
Note 1. Mr. Stanislaus Poochigian (b. 1922)
fought at Guadalcanal & was wounded
both
in his right arm and left leg, earning
him two
Purple Hearts. The chance of Sloss
being able
to shovel out on his own to avoid a
little thing
like Damnation? Zero,
Zilch, Nada & None.
Note 2: Readers born twixt 1930 and 1955 will
grok to my sugared swing down memory
lane.
Post-60s tykes will doubtless find said
lane full
of potholes so are urged to avoid an
arduous trek
and the grueling trick-oh-no-metrics
that follow.
Note 3. Charter school teachers who want to
use my new math as a historical
teaching aid
will be thrilled to know that whoever
the hell
this poet is—or pretends to be—he
asserts no
(Plagiarists are advised that all candy
brands
are
trademarked—so an ® sign must always
be appended to each item to avoid
criminal
prosecution & potentially
devastating fines.)
Note 4. I anguished for years, trying to decide
whether to entitle this poudrin SNOW
JOB or
THE POEM THAT COMMITS SUICIDE.
I’m having second thoughts, so, if you
prefer
the latter-day title, please delete the
former in
your .docx, .rtf or other Word file and
paste in
THE POEM THAT COMMITS SUICIDE.
Note 5. Alas, I cannot count on Millennials or
GenXers to be familiar with the word poudrin
(see Note four). My online dictionary
defines
it as “The falling to earth of any form
of water
(rain or snow or hail or sleet or
mist).” Sounds
like the sort of shit that never keeps
“couriers”
at the US Postal Service from their
ROUNDS.
Note 6: To cover my ass, my attorney (Bernie)
insists I inform you that my 99%
discount offer
will expire at 2:27 A.M. on August
31st, 2985.
Don’t miss out on this
once-in-a-lifetime offer.
Remember the code: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7.
Call NOW!
—David Alpaugh
