when the barrage balloons went up
I was humping my lambskin rug,
wearing Superman Underoos, Buddy
Holly style glasses and a tweed blazer.
I remember the sensation on my gums
as I chewed on my crib rail (worry, a lot
of worry), eating boogers and wrapping
a fat rubber band around my privates,
over and over until they turned purple,
so I would get a cookie from the elderly
babysitter. our neighbors had a neato
dug-out, but my parents were too busy
spraying deodorant on cows, scooting
along orange shag carpet to seedy, late
night soirees with other singles (they
turned out to be friendly, so that ended
well). still, it gives me goose bumps
that families don’t interconnect through
grooves modeled after the crevasses
of their toes, clicking like Lego bricks.
Second installment of a flarfed ‘autobiography’. Click here for part one.