Stress Part 2 by: Hillarree Hamblin, Acrylic on canvas, 2010.
A Completely Rational Response
by: Robert Crosby
Like a trout flung skyward toward the stars
my platypus bludgeons the salesman heaven-bound.
The serenity the marsupial shows, the taste of stale coke on my lips,
the sound of bystanders wailing meat-noises, the feel of the harsh sun,
and the scent of the salesman soiling himself in fear.
His expression whines deafening pleas for sanity and mercy,
but the salesman named Bob finds neither today in Houston.
Caffeine, sugar, bubbles give me zen clarity as the man’s blood
and excrement rain down in profane precipitation.
I will require medication afterwards to forget all of this.
The bludgeoning now induces crimson cranial expulsions,
but the salesman brazenly ignored my warnings and then my refusals,
so he must die by platypus. It is the natural order of things, nothing more.
The duck-billed mammal roars. “Now I am become death, the destroyer of worlds!”
The local hard-boiled detective tries to begin hostage negotiations.
My platypus flings at him a crucifix surgically removed from his tear duct.
Swat members move in, the platypus draws his glass katana, and in 4.2 seconds,
no one is wearing functional pants, no, not even the dogs.
I cannot be seen pantsless. The children and nuns would be forever scarred. Retreat!
Soon the media, the National Guard, the pizza deliveries,
the party clowns, and strippers will arrive, hopefully all at once.
It is a well lubricated day.
When the people of the world see the trespasser’s colon cut into a floral arrangement
they will know to stay off of my lawn.
Que sera, sera, bitches.
The coke bottle in my hand coos “It’s time to trigger the explosives.”
A flick, a click and we — me, salesman, platypus, bystanders, cops, pizza deliverers,
clowns, strippers and coke bottle —
fly up in so many pieces
like trout flung skyward at the stars.