Mr. Toad, come to life, whisper
something dear; there’s a devil
on the headboard, he
sways and strokes
his beard.
On a lump of the branch through the
bog of a brain in hole at the bottom
of the sea
Mr.Toad is lost
to
lost treasure.
The devil sez, “Do you recognize the World,
Mr. Toad?”
“No,” says Mr. Toad.
The devil sez, “Then you ain’t going nowhere.”
We sing the blues and get a bowl of oatmeal.
Life at the bottom of the sea means three hots
and a laxative.
Every so often a guard swims down to tease
us with air.
“Hey fag,” says the guard. “How’d you
like this bubbling up yer butt?”
We smile and speak of rock stars
and world politics.
Our lips shimmer with fear.
Rob Goldstein © 2017
