A Love Letter From The Apocalypse

My trauma menu

A Mad Max Happy Meal
Something I can’t quite digest

Limburger and Liver Sausage
(The perfect pear.
An ode to dad’s
Everywhere.)

I’m polarized—
My left
My right
Neither
Is correct
It stinks

My direction—
I’m up
I’m down
Neither
Has compass
It smells

My taste
Is destructive
Horrific
I don’t know what
My flavor is—
Maybe a taste of
Disgusting

Nausea
Is
Around the corner
Gagging
Where?
Is my porcelain
Queen?

I should stop
Cooking
On my car hood—
At the very least
Add pumpernickel bread
And make a sandwich.

As my dad would say:
“If it smells like hell,
It builds character.”

God—
Just wait till I talk about
Ham hocks and Pea Soup.
Ugh.

Love you dad.
Also, mom.

I still remember
That grease stained wax paper—
“Don’t throw that away!”
Feed it to the chickins’!

‘Cause
We need good eggs
For scrambled brain ’n’ eggs
In the morning
Nothin’ better than awful.
I mean, offal.
With milk gravy
It’s dreamy
Creamy.

Cripes
I need a sandwich
Made with
Fried crushed steel
Used motor oil cheese
And layered on
Pulverized rubber tire flame grilled buns.
God knows
I just want
A steel burger.

If this were to be a Father’s Day card…

The back of the card should say:
“You’re supposed to laugh,
Dad…
It’s funny stupid.”
Nothin’ personal.