Folly's End
I’ve enjoyed writing for many years. I'm dedicating more time to the craft in my retirement days.
He is small
I mean really small
Hardly visible at all
With unmitigated gall
Who can think only of himself
And no other
Not sister
Not brother
Nor father
Nor mother
Nor family writ large
Oh, he’ll use the name
Play the game
But it’s not the same
It’s not real
He doesn’t feel
Not the way we do
Me and you
And so many others
But it’s not our druthers
That drive his train
Pull his caboose
Cut him loose
He travels to the beat
Of a different drum
Not parumpapumpum
It’s a different score
Perhaps written
On Tralfamadore
With strange characters galore
Including Kurt Vonnegut
And old King Tut
And a mangy mutt
Named Constantinople
And so it goes
Now everybody knows
That the tunes
Are looney
Very cartoony
Looking not real
Like a hand-drawn stick man
Humming Macarena
On the drive to Pasadena
On Route 66
Just before he kicks
The can
Or the bucket
This is the way
Some might say
Like the Mandalorian
We should watch that show again
With popcorn
And peanuts
And a candy-coated prize
It’s a feast for the eyes
An old Western
But new
In outer space
In a galaxy far, far away
Where when they say
I have spoken
The conversation is broken
Ends right there
Nothing else to enunciate
Then the characters cogitate
Ruminate
Meditate
In silence
As they ride along
On the backs of blurrgs
Blurrgs
Slowly trudging through the desert
With Baby Yoda in a sack
Grogu
Alone on a desolate planet
Except for the bad guys
Who might just inspire
The guy who’s small
Hardly visible at all
With a mind to match
What scheme might he hatch
If he were there
With a monocle
Eying the spectacle
Of folks on blurrgs
Mere words
Will fail
To assail
Such creatures
As this
Who grunt and hiss
As they trudge
Passing by
Pan to the sky
Fade to black
Add some stars
Zoom in on Mars
The orange planet
And remember the day
They attacked
On orders from Titan
Via the Rumfoord Taj
This whole collage
Could be a diversion
From the real subversion
The conversion
Of orange
To set things apart
From their surroundings
A safety measure
To save blood and treasure
And now to turn it
Into something different
A meme
Alongside Wilson
From Cast Away
Who had no brain at all
Was just a ball
But a fine companion
Sort of a D’artagnan
But there weren’t three
There was only one
And in any case
We’re all over the place
Earning frowny face
Not sticker star
Now we’ve come pretty far
To say how small he are
Or is
Twinkle twinkle
Little stiz
Or star
Oh by gar
By golly
Time to end the folly
And grow up
Already
© 2020 greg cain