norm, today at clarence’s across
the street eddie sat on the patio
across from me smoking a cigarette
and sipping coffee in a short-sleeve
casual knit shirt with a breast pocket
like an izod but in this case bearing
not the stitched on alligator but
embroidered the words “yes, I do
have all the answers” on the
pocket above which, as though stuffed
into the pocket, were cartoon demo-
litions materiel rockets and bundled
fasces of dynamite sticking up and
trailing to a detonator, beside the pocket
where, over eddie’s breastbone, the
image of Wile E. Coyote leaned
angrily smug on the plunger handle.
apparently an elderly man on a budget
wearing a high explosive shirt
primed and guarded by a maniac
is all the answers. i think so. when,
beyond eddie in his shirt and
framing his head i noticed the
do not enter sign and the one way
sign with an arrow pointing to the right,
and then with the the sirens, norm,
suspiciously i did think of you. again.
obviously, that mere breast pocketful
of cartoon munitions is not enough to
blow much more than eddie’s own rib
cage to a gaping mess and probably
not even hurt anyone sitting near
by him like myself for example.
sure, eddie could be hurt, many
crocodile trademarks and other
members of the emblazoned bestiary may
be maimed, some shirt collars "popped"
erect, an arc of casual knit crater rim,
but it’s his ribcage and shirt, his
political, or commercial, expression.
what worries me is the slippery slope
with independence day approaching
what starts a cartoon on a pocket
never intended to hold anything
grows one real firecracker and
then a whole string of fifty
in a hip pocket and then cargo pants
packed with screamers, woven
M-80 levi jeans, matching roman candle
shirt and bottle-rocket blazer! from there
it is but one small step to
the nail vest. of course you know
best norm but i remain suspicious.