03-27-2014, 09:15 AM
The bird lands on a power-line,
a thud, dull as a cowbell in the business section of a big city.
It flies away. Tens of hundreds of army ants,
on their way out of Tucker's yard, their towns devastated
by Tucker and Bobby's Godzilla and King Kong,
and Desiree was Mothra.
Somebody tears bark off a tree, squirting the red ants
with the water bottle their mama uses to flatten people's hair.
Frankie says the red ants are Communist, Frankie is a jerkhole;
that's something he heard that very day in school.
There's only one car per family,
or so Tucker was told when he was the little ones' ages.
Now they have music lessons and hang out at the mall.
Tucker's 16 and still plays outside,
and so do the others until daddy's home.
Daddy goes to bed to drink, and mama takes the little ones
to lessons and the mall, so now there's only Tucker,
king of the monsters.
Frankie is off riding his dirt-bike.
The tv in the big bedroom means daddy won't be disturbed.
Besides, the door's shut;
and there's a sound in the basement and the basement steps.
There's no one else in the house for to be down there.
Outside,
there's something scratching at the basement window,
the flashlight helps to see . . . a squirrel, how boring.
A common burglar would've been more exciting.
But how did it get in there?
Headlights exhume then extinguish any mystery for that night;
mama's home, Bobby, Desiree.
Tucker doesn't tell anybody about the squirrel,
he wants to see who gets scared.
But there are no more noises that night.
The next night, Tucker, inspired by the last night's false alarm
has a plan.
He and Frankie sit by the edge of the woods all night,
it being Friday,
waiting for the least sign of some strange thing they heard,
and thought they may have seen,
a few years ago.
Frankie always goes to sleep first;
besides that, he's mean.
That's why Tucker is bored after the little ones go to bed.
Frankie's only fun when there are no bigger kids around,
but he goes to sleep too early for the fun things there are at night:
At least in Tucker's mind.
The strange thing is still there;
though human lives may fall apart.
Tune in next time for more . . .
a thud, dull as a cowbell in the business section of a big city.
It flies away. Tens of hundreds of army ants,
on their way out of Tucker's yard, their towns devastated
by Tucker and Bobby's Godzilla and King Kong,
and Desiree was Mothra.
Somebody tears bark off a tree, squirting the red ants
with the water bottle their mama uses to flatten people's hair.
Frankie says the red ants are Communist, Frankie is a jerkhole;
that's something he heard that very day in school.
There's only one car per family,
or so Tucker was told when he was the little ones' ages.
Now they have music lessons and hang out at the mall.
Tucker's 16 and still plays outside,
and so do the others until daddy's home.
Daddy goes to bed to drink, and mama takes the little ones
to lessons and the mall, so now there's only Tucker,
king of the monsters.
Frankie is off riding his dirt-bike.
The tv in the big bedroom means daddy won't be disturbed.
Besides, the door's shut;
and there's a sound in the basement and the basement steps.
There's no one else in the house for to be down there.
Outside,
there's something scratching at the basement window,
the flashlight helps to see . . . a squirrel, how boring.
A common burglar would've been more exciting.
But how did it get in there?
Headlights exhume then extinguish any mystery for that night;
mama's home, Bobby, Desiree.
Tucker doesn't tell anybody about the squirrel,
he wants to see who gets scared.
But there are no more noises that night.
The next night, Tucker, inspired by the last night's false alarm
has a plan.
He and Frankie sit by the edge of the woods all night,
it being Friday,
waiting for the least sign of some strange thing they heard,
and thought they may have seen,
a few years ago.
Frankie always goes to sleep first;
besides that, he's mean.
That's why Tucker is bored after the little ones go to bed.
Frankie's only fun when there are no bigger kids around,
but he goes to sleep too early for the fun things there are at night:
At least in Tucker's mind.
The strange thing is still there;
though human lives may fall apart.
Tune in next time for more . . .