HEROES…

We love to see them fall. Thetis left
a smidge of mortality on Achilles’ heel,
knowing we’d tire of Eternal Triumph.
Strolling to Calvary, most tickled to see
Iron Nails Run In—to the Greatest of

Heroes (mankind cannot bear very much
Divinity). As for superstars, worshipped
from afar; though we clap till our palms
are sore, we’re not wholly displeased by
the sound—when one of them HITS the

GROUND…

FREAKS…

We called ’em. They lived in a world elsewhere.
You’d have to go to a carnival sideshow to see—
The Fat Lady, Tattooed Man, Dog-Faced Boy; or
Myrtle Corbin with 4 legs and 2 sets of genitalia.
Step right up! Buy your ticket and GAWK at the

Freaks. Only creeps still use that word of prey.
Today (at Krispy Kreme) I saw 5 Full-Figured
Women—and didn’t even blink. Nor do I stare
at Illustrated Men in the AT&T Park bleachers.
Barnum had his day. Caliban passé. We are all Odds’

CREATURES…

PARENTHESES…

(adalimumab eszopiclone tadalifil rivaroxaban
dapagliflozin). Birth names of panaceas,
hyped nightly on TV— skip not lightly off the tongue.
No wonder that Ad Men who sell such mouthy
monikers — stash them away in alcoves called

Parentheses. (Norma Jeane Mortenson? Frances
Gumm? Ilyena Vasilievna Mironov?) Would we
adore them half as much had they honored their
fathers and mothers? Juliet Capulet asked her Romeo
What’s in a name? Money, honey, and

FAME…

CONSTANTINOPLE…

Isn’t what it used to be (the Ottoman Empire,
long defunct). Still, most agree with the Four
Lads: That’s nobody’s business but the Turks.
(Nothing quite the same since Rilke’s legless
wonder kicked the shit out of everyone’s life.)

Constantinople, a mouthful—few sorry to see her
go. Most way too busy searching for that chicken
in every pot. Today, politicians use tele-prompters
to bellow up-to-the-instant-bull. Unlike the Turks,
who squabbled for centuries—before agreeing on

ISTANBUL…

HARUMPH…

Is in the dictionary—but is it really a word?
I’ve seen it attributed to Mr. Magoo & other
cartoon figures—but never heard it uttered.
Real men and women clear throats; express
contempt many ways; but surely not with a

Harumph. I’d like to be the first to actually
say it—but must trap the moment when ripe.
A political rally where a candidate spews out balderdash so inane I want to kick him in the
rump; which includes every politician on the

STUMP…

CRUSH…

A Scary Insect. The name of the video game
I hope to make 10 million bucks on! I lure you
into my Application, promising free play. You
rack up thousands of points—zapping ant, bee,
gnat. Thrill to the SPLAT that punctuates each

Crush. Once hooked (for a modest fee) match
your dexterity against increasingly nasty pests,
flitting about on your screen. (Ever try to swat
a tsetse fly?) Delight in Mayhem may abate
or worsen—when you graduate to Crush A Scary

PERSON…