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She wanted to escape from life,
but found it necessary to stand in line
with her kohlrabi and mutton pull toy
while she waited beside the cobweb ladder
to the portly hole of the main egress. While she waited,
she met a white bumblebee with a large
hump on its back, a dromedary drone,
a crack albino with a wild crock pot
hysteria in his eye. He waved his
antennae around and said to her, "Ms. Mantis, I see
you are knowingly closeted" before
having a labial seizure, which forced his lips
into the pouted posture Queen Mary
of Scots held while she waited
for her final beheading. He felt a healthy
reddening in the white fuzz of his abdomen,
and suddenly became quite mute. While she waited,
drinking stout, the mantis began
to decapitate foam as it slid, slow
and easy, from the rim of her pint.
It was at this porcelain moment
that the line moved up an iota, and the mantis
lurched through to the other side. Once there,
she found a quiet harbor, futile as dust,
and censored from reason. She made it
to the other side, and now she wanted
to return, especially since she'd already seen the lacy
furbelow tease of the weathervaned cock
while she waited in line. But the bee flew in beside her
like a butterflied breeze, sipping Evan Williams
with jaundiced luster. She let out the penultimate honk
before pretending to drown in a duct tape well.
"It's difficult," he said.
"I understand completely."
She began to dry herself off
and let go of her pull toy. |