Thursday, October 12, 2006


Hi, I'm an antenna. You know, I hate satellites. They've been my enemy for more than 20 years, and not once have you stuck up for me. No, you pretend to be electrocuted by sticking a fork in the toaster. Not once have you prepared toast correctly. You should make biscuits instead. Fluffier, warmer, a little honey, give them to the neighbor boy, invite your friends in for tea and laxatives. I used to whip asses, in some of the more abusive houses. Gangs ripped me off cars of "Richie Riches" who did not deign to talk to the young, uneducated Pink Lions or Carnivorous Campers. A bear once chewed my metal like bark, a shrimp's never seen me. I'm not defeated. Sometimes you'll see me on the hoods of lonely Chevettes in used car lots. If you pass me, feel my cold surface in the palms of your hands. Talk to me. Scream at the skies above you, with their orbiting metal, with their electronic planets, spying on you, grinning at me, dangerous.


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