Italian Beach Balloon Seller

I get up early and arrange my gizmos

Floaters, tubes, baskets, watches, jewelry

faux Gucci faux fendi with real glitz


I gather these things with a number of  new Italiano

words picked up on the beach "Poco Caro, ti piace?"

I mouth the r's as I tie the balloons to my walking stick

"Signora, ti piace?" sometimes does the trick.


I walk on the sand

I walk on my heels

I walk like a warrior

Who has run out of appeals


Brazen, I carry my balloons full to the hilt

The breeze from the ocean agitates them like a virus

I am towering, visible like a lighthouse that weebles  in every direction

Yet invisible to thousands of beachgoers,  as if I had an infection.


I am aped

Made fun of

A child runs in front of me,  pretends to be Tarzan

So I show him my urban hero, a yellow-belted Batman.


The beach is my highway

Straight with no detours

It gives me time to think of my love, my home

And Amanpour's news tours.


I get home feeling toasted

And fall into a dream:

It's a modern Tarzan in the jungle with Jane

She's tweeting on her iPhone while swinging on a vine,

"Kowbunga dudettes, boy pumped up. New microwave,

gnarly programs and bell ding dong lol!"

And Tarzan while riding a rocky Rhino tweets:

"If Cheetah could say "I love u" that would be awesome."

They take the elevator tree whose cable is pulled by an elephant


But then I feel pressure on my neck and I am gasping for air

It is a hand holding my head

Pushing me under water, forcing me to swear.

"You must take Amazon Prime" says the hand

My arms flail like my balloons in the wind

"You must have Prime!" it shouts.

Then a lawyer appears holding a thumb in his hand

"You forgot this on the beach."

"I, I forgot.."

The thumb was full of sand but it was a thumb.

"Yes, and Viareggio Beach House is suing you because
the Marchese Santo Pallone found it and threw up her
entire shrimp salad."

Then, I wake up with a glorious Tarzan cry,

aaahuaaa uaaa uaaaaaaaaaaaa!

There it is:

The Amazon Prime Card on the floor.

Bee Bat or Mouse

Bee Bat or Mouse Poem

By James Lang

4 characters :Georges-Louis Leclerc de Buffon,naturalist, biologist and philosopher, Etienne de Condillac, philospher and author of Traité des Animaux, Sephen Jay Gould, evolutionary biologist, paleontologist and writer and Jacques Derida, philosopher.

Imagine Etienne de Condillac driving a white Cadillac convertible

With red leather seats

He is discussing Bees with

Buffon, who is taking in the Bellevue Streets

As the car radio reports on Colorado drug dogs on the dole

Buffon, chewing gum, has a problem with

The bees hexagon

“It’s automatic” he yelps, leaning over to Condillac,

And Condillac agrees but disagrees while watching an 

Electric scooter shoot up a sidewalk.

“Bees are craftsmen, they control the design

And they do it without God’s help.”

“And they do too…it without a soul” snickered Buffon.

Condillac hits the brakes at a pedestrian crossing.

Two men, one skinny and white haired, the other sporting

A moustache and a fleshy, bulbous nose, are traversing and discussing bats:

Derida: “A bat is an idealized creature, in China 5 bats is a blessing!”

“And in Europe they are vampires!” said Gouldin an omniscient demeanor. 

“But did you know their heartbeat can go from 20 beats per minute to

1300?”

“When they’re having sex?” (Derida)

“When they’re flying!” (voice dropping)

Buffon leans over and honks the horn. HOOOONK!

“Bougez, bougez!”

“You act like an ‘ani-mot’” shouted Derida

“And you are a soulless punk” said Condillac, his fingers playing with his beehive hair.

“Someone should put both of you in a mousetrap” sneered Gould

His hedgehog mustache looking more abrasive than ever.

“I forgot to write volume 37, entitled, “Natural Losers” sputtered Buffon, and at that Condillac stepped on the gas, and the Cadillac screeched off in the opposite direction of Webster University.

Grandma Iceland

Grandma Iceland

Siren Grandmother
Taken out to Sea in Icy Icelandic waters

A cuddly wave Embraced her
Pulling on her smile
Like a dentist doing his Art

The Grandmother's heart
Throbs with the waves
Crashing, her Telegenetic future

Is recorded digitally yet
It is not clear how out of
Control her Social Setting Are

Not on Private, not on Friends Only
Her family is mushed in a viral
Spotlight

Emblazoned with Wows and Likes
The dramatic Circus spectacle
Of Grandma Iceland She

Is called sitting on a carved Ice Throne
The dossier wonderfully translucent
A spectacle of

Whites and blues that
Matches Grandma's mouton hair
A seductive show where

Only Death looms hidden
To spring like a Tiger out of nowhere
Ready to catch that natural innocent smile

And freeze it for Eternity.

Straw Story

I was brought up on a farm in Oklahoma in the days when Pa drove his John Deere tractor without satellite or wifi to steer him down infinite plain pastures (he would steer a straighter line than any satellite, he would say), planting soy beans -mostly soy- as the rumble of the pop-popping motor could be hear over the plains and probably through his kidneys. I was brought up in the day when Mom and my brothers had to de-husk corn, clean the pig stalls and then do our homework. When we was done, Mom would make us an egg cream in a cold glass she kept in the fridge and when it was all done and settled, she would pop in a straw for each of us with her index finger. My brothers and I would race to drink 'em down but when I think of it now, years later, it was more of a sucking up contest, with the 4 of us sucking and sucking with such force that our cheeks touched just about on the insides of our mouths.

I was the youngest and never won. Bobby, the oldest, would challenge us like it was an arm wrestling contest: he would look down at you as he pulled on that one, lonely straw with such force it seemed like his nose got longer. You couldn't talk while doing it but I emitted a long "nnnnnnnn" sound from my nose, hoping maybe to distract Bobby and catch him short. Harper, the middle brother, would lodge spit balls into my straw and even if he didn't win he got a chug of giggles from watching me turn blue from sucking on my jammed straw. Mom got a kick of our challenges, often laughing to the point she had to readjust her apron. I often told her my losing was unfair 'cause since I was served last, I was served the thicker egg cream portion compared to my brothers. One day I remember my drink was so thick when I punched the straw through I yelled "ouch!". "Why don't you take one of my thimbles" was what mom suggested for me and all 3 brothers were laughing so hards they spilled and rolled down on the floor. 

When McDonald's opened down the street 20 years ago, we stopped lining up for Mom's egg creams. Pa had died from a heart attack in his tractor (his air-conditioning was broke and I suppose he wilted under the heat of the summer), and Ma took over the driving. The neighbours were critical of Ma's farming skills 'cause she always drove in circles. "Why you driving in circles, Marcy?" the neighbours would say, and she replied that for the simple reason that the watering was done in circles and that the corners were always left dry in traditional farming techniques. 

At McDonald's I didn't feel at home and I guess I felt like a soya bean left out in the corner of our farm patch. But regardless, we became regulars. Mom forbade us from eating the junk but we could get all the liquid shakes we wanted. The McDonald's shakes were almost as thick as mom's and when the machine broke they were even thicker. On a wet April day I once knocked over Harper's shake as we joked about turning all farms into bullseye tracks of land, and I prided myself 'cause I could righten the cup before even a drip of the chilly white fluid ebbed onto the tiled black and white floor. Harper, such a sucker, complained that his straw was tilted like the tower of Pisa and if I had a cow prod I woulda use it on him and maybe a few zaps would get the straw straight all by itself. 

When I got married, Constance, my wife, who drove a tractor better than my dad, tried to dissuade me from going to McDonald's. 
"It's out of the question sweetie pie". I worked in a turkey factory  and we were very proud 'cause we developed a new turkey claw skin product that we exported to China in large quantities. The Chinese had been eating chicken claw skins for years but they found the turkey even meatier and tastier.
Maybe it was trending but Constance also drove her tractor in circles and she threw out her GPS saying it got all confused so she opted for a compass to guide her. When I returned from the turkey factory circular fields as far as the eye could see were part of the landscape, and the soybeans were as lush as ever.

Maybe those concentric fields got me hypnotised 'cause I stared sucking down more and more shakes and as I drunk I thought I could see the fluid going down in spirals and when I sucked harder my nose got in the way of all that spinning. 

I got promoted and had to fly to China time to time to visit a turkey processing plant we set up there and all was going fine. Jet-lagged and tired from my return trip I shuffled into my McDonald's and ordered a "banana-vanilla special". "Extra thick" I chimed in, knowing that the machine's settings were pre-programmed. 

The counter person was new to me and she handed over my drink with a friendly smile. I peeked into my bag, rummaging to pick out the straw only to see that it was missing.
"You forgot my straw m'am, looking at her face that slightly revealed a wing of a bat on her neck. 
"Sorry sir, it's new McDonald's policy not to give out straws" she intoned in all seriousness. 
"Are you suggesting that after 22 years of sucking down your shakes I'm to cuddle it with a spoon?"
"Spoons will be phased out next, sir, all plastic cutlery is being eliminated at McDonald's."
My patience was ebbing. "If you're suggesting that I should eat this with my fingers may I tell you to go to my farm and drink this shake with my hogs."
"Sir, the straws are polluting the planet, Sir! Are you aware that there are over 30,000 square miles of floating straws in the oceans at any given time? And that's not counting styrofoam cups and other plastic detritus that breaks down very, very slowly, intoxicating all marine life?"
Her McDonald's cap slid down her eyebrows giving her a stern look. Her hand was pointing at me and she made a round sign to indicate the entire planet earth. She was offensive. Never in my life had someone tried to impede me from using a straw. I mimed sucking the straw, pulling in my well-exercised cheeks and staring at her with all the intensity I could muster.
"How disgusting" she cried, somewhat surprised. I was at a loss. She screamed, I jumped over the counter and with my hands around her neck I shouted, "I want a straw, give me a straw now!!!"
Her face was turning blue and I couldn't stop shaking her. A crowd had formed. No-one tried to pull me off her, people were just taking pictures or filming. 
"You ca-can't ha-ha-have ya fu-fucking straw!" her words were barely audible.

Squirrel: Book III

by John Keats Lang

There are those who fly it o'er their fellow-men
With most prevailing: yet those who unfurl
Their vanity tails, to browse away
The comfortable bark and smoothy acorn
 O torturing fact!

Teetering branches
That, through an idiot blink, a misfired trigger
Fire-branded hunters  sear up and singe
A maple tree's wide ripe squirrely hopes.

With not a tongue
Oh, sanctuary of splendour, not a sight
Able to face an owl or a drone at night,

Bleary-eyed no news nations,
Where crowns celebrate flacons .
Unleashed beasts,

Fearfully nod to the acorn tree

Tip-toeing the dull skies 

Gathering strength like  the

Perch of a pole vaulter

These fierce intoxicating tones

Of trumpets, shouting after bamboozling baboons

With humming cannons that will moan

When unwakeful ears

Clap like thunder in 

Babylon.

Are these regalities gilded mask offerings?

Are these seatible unscaleable thrones

The constant spell of the ethereal squirrel?

Or can a ladder be birthed to approach the 

Abysm of he who hums, mouths and kisses the beloved Acorn?

Oh Apollo!

As bees gorge their cells

Thy sweet cream sickle  smoothie is thine

When thy gold breath reverberates like

The moaning squirrel

No tail is more resplendent

No cheek is more cheeky

Than yours that blesses  

Spatially

Sorted nuts in their plutonic and nutritional order.

The Italian Barbecue

The Italian Barbeque

By James Lang

A one act play 

The Scene is in Tuscany, it is the summer of 2018 and Italy is going through yet another heat wave. We are in a 400 year old hunting house that is isolated and detached from time. There is a long table with an umbrella and dangling Italian ribbons that ornate the door that leads to the kitchen. The grill is adjacent to the table. It is dusk and to the rear of the scene there is a wild forest in the backdrop. The characters are dressed according to their period.

Actors: Marie Antoinette (MA), regal and in great form, she is hosting the event.
Thomas Mann (TM): well-dressed, intuitive and calculating, stocky shoulders and sure of himself. Dante: wearing a long cape and cap, slightly hunched, quick nervous movements and very expressive with his hands. Milton: a great observer, light on his feet, he likes to hold his chin and pretend to examine things. John Pence (JP): Grey hair, beady intense eyes, walks around like he is in a parade. Queen Elizabeth (QE): Big had, ginger on her feet, elegant and queeny. Virgil: the parking attendant, observant, lonely and bored acts as if destiny has its role. MA (Wearing a regal gown, her hair made in her famous style)

MA    Gentlemen, today is a special evening, Italy has cleared the remains of the Morandi bridge that collapsed in Genoa, and I have invoked the spirits and the powers of my Lord to invite you to celebrate, discuss, eat and drink at this special hunting house in the middle of Tuscany. Here you can express yourselves freely, there are no devices or spies except for the few wild boars that we might hear scrounging around the woods. Regardless, you should know that this slab of beef that I have brought and which we shall grill tonight, comes from a cow that was pasturing under the Morandi bridge at the time of its collapse. Miraculously, although a truck fell on top of it from a height of 55 meters, the cow was found by rescue workers 6 days after the tragedy, unharmed, and the local residents decided to name this cow Santa Mucca. The cow was then given to Marco Airoldi, the director of Benetton, but when Edwin Musk heard about it he flew to Milan and offered 100 of his electric cars in exchange. Airoldi accepted but when he learned that Musk wanted to put the Santa Mucca into his next rocket ship that would orbit Pluto, he pulled out of the deal. He tweeted, “Santa Mucca looking for Marie” probably thinking of Virgin Mary and when I replied he gave the cow to me.

Dante    That is so kind Marie. It took a some days to walk to this saintly place and I have left Virgil at the parking to watch my valise. I hope you don’t mind.

MA    Tell him there is a chain that he can use to attach you things and he can join us if he wants.

Dante    Virgil is too shy, I’m afraid. But if your lost and googlemaps doesn’t work he’s the man to have around.

MA    Indeed.

Milton    It is an honour to be here too Marie. I’ve been writing so many letters these days that my feathers are running out. It’s good to get a break.

MA    Who are you writing to Milton?

Milton    Mostly the church. Ever since I published my novel there has been an unending surge of scandals emanating from the church. What’s worse is the cardinals know all about it and they keep it under cover.

Dante    More sinners. God as a tool of...

T.M.   Power and

MA    Persuasion! So gentlemen, now that you are here there is a decision to make and that is who will cook the meat?

The 3 men in unison, “I will!”

MA    Now, now. This must be decided in a civilized way. For example, we could decide by hearing which of you wrote the most about human suffering.

TM    Unfair! Dante would likely win and even if he didn’t such a conversation would take days. The meat would go bad by then.

Milton    I don’t mind a good debate Thomas, in my day we wouldn’t count days but years.

Dante    Then let us decide on who amongst us wrote the most about women.

Milton    Oh, I see it coming: Dante, the lover boy crazy about Beatrice, crazy, untouchable, pure love, LOL!

TM    (With an exaggerated Italian accent) Oh, Be-atrice, I will go though hell for you!

Milton and Thomas Mann laugh together.

MA    Gentlemen! If I were your mother I would say “maléduqué” Now, I remember in the Crystal Palace, if we couldn’t decide on something the King would send us into a labyrinth in the jardin and the first one to get out would be the winner.

TM   But there are no labyrinths here my Queen. What if we try paper, scissor, rock?

At this moment the sound of an old gate makes everyone turn around.


MA    Mike Pence! How timely! I had given up on you! Just now we were looking for someone to grill this slab of beautiful meat.

MP    Howdie y’all, sorry I’m late but I had to memorize the nuclear code for my country. I may be more used to grilling dogs but you give me a grill and Lord I shall come one step closer to heaven.

MA    (Handing over the sacred beef) This is no ordinary slab of cow I am giving you Mike, I need you to grill it like you would grill one of your own children.

MP    As a loyal person you have my utmost trust my Queen.

Milton    I thought you were Vice President of the United States? Why the nuclear code?

MP    “Have nuclear code, will travel” is what I say. Fake news! Code or no code I have been calling the shots since day one. Still, I made this trip to Italy to sidestep tweeting and...

Dante    Si, this tweeting business has me very intrigued. Today, if I would rewrite the Divina Commedia I would include some tweets.

MP ... and to meet Marie Antoinette. You are a big fan of mine!

MA    That’s sweet of you to say so Mike.

TM    Where would you introduce a tweet?

Dante   In Canto V, where I meet Piero and Francesca.

TM    I see, you would have Piero tweet Capaneus what a dead sinner he is!

Dante    Not bad Thomas. I think I would rather have Francesca tweet Ugolino telling him how earth and God are without pity. It could go, “Bad earth, bad God, no pity, whatta shame loser. #Francesca”

Milton    I like it, a little clash in a poem creates irony.

MP    Just wait a minute! Before I ask where the lighter fluid is, let’s be clear that God has pity and mercy on us all.

Everyone: Are you sure???

MA    Now gentlemen, let’s not get carried away. In Tuscany, (nor in Versailles) we don’t have lighter fluid. For years I use these bones with some paper.

MP    Bones? Where from?

MA    Rabbit paws. They come from my favorite French restaurant, “Chez Mon Lapin”. This is from a dish called “Ailes de lapin” or “Rabbit wings”. These dried bones light a fire faster that you can say “Le silence du people est la leçon du rois.” (She hands the bones over to MP)

MP    I took French in High School Marie and I can tell you there ain’t no silent people today in the U.S. of A. (He takes the rabbit paws and stokes up a big flame.)

Milton    Ladies and Gentlemen, I have to step in. When I arrived on the Continent in my carriage I was watching a Youtube video on a singer who appears very famous.

TM   How do you know?

Milton   She has a few million hits on her song. The point is it was filmed in the Louvre.

MA   They did a song in the Louvre?

Milton   Not only are they singing but dancing too! Dancing! And to top it all, they are all colored.

MA   Black people in the Louvre... Mon dieu!

Milton   At one point they’re rapping and dancing in front of a favourite painting of mine, “Dante and Virgil in Hell”.

Dante   They’re dancing in front of my painting?

Milton    Dancing in front of light and shadows, looking hip, just as Virgil looks in control.

Virgil   Did someone call my name?

Dante    It’s ok Virgil, just keep watching the parking for us.

Milton   And then it got me to thinking, watching this video, about when I wrote on fear and silence.

Milton steps into the darknss of the night, takes a deep breath and says,

 “In this nightmare that you and I know best
 You and all the rest
 In this nightmare that you and I confess
 You and I regret
 The face in the dark cloud haunts me
 The safety in silence taunts me
 All that I share, indifference at beast
 You damaged all intent For all the sins I've done, I still belong”

MA    (Clapping) Bravo, John, Bravo! That was excellent.

Dante    You say the safety in silence “taunts me”, yet all your writing stirred up quite a lot of noise.

Milton    There is a need for stirring Dante, when there is a decline in morality, there’s no need to speak up.

 MP    (Acting busy cooking the beef over the smoky grill) Thank God in America we speak up and Tweet up!

TM    Not wishing to step into your flames Mike but a society can make considerable noise yet all that noise or brouhaha can be just a cloud that obfuscates the issues.

 MP   Such as?

TM   Issues such as racism, sexual orientation, crime to name a few. Your country is not out of the woods.

 MP    So you think the noise we make is to avoid dealing with these issues in a real way?

TM   Y es, I do.

MP   Have you got an example.

TM You use religion, Mike, to override all these issues.

MP    (Making an effort to flip the beef) And you think you’re a saint?

TM    If you read “Death in Vensie” then you know I am not a saint.

Dante    A sensational novel. The boy was so pretty!

Milton    There’s so much tension and drama.

MA    You describe the boy like a girl...

TM    Thank you gentlemen, my Lady, it was the most difficult novel I ever wrote. How can a man, feel love for a young boy who is coming of age and yet still has such delicate feature of a young woman?

MP    But that’s revolting! Have mercy on your sinful soul! (sticking a fork into the meat) Marie! Marie! I think it’s ready!

MA   Mike, Mike, (taking the large slab of beef over to the table), this is so moving. Did I tell you that this is a Genovese cow that was found from under the collapsed Morandi bridge?

MP    I read a tweet from Milton before I arrived. I know all about it. Her name was Santa something. Now, we were talking...

MA   Mucca. Good. We still need to check to see if it’s not too raw inside.


MP    It is a thick, thick slab M’am, even for Indiana standards.

MA    Mike, you told me I could trust you to make it right.

MP    Yes, your majesty. It’s just I would feel a little more comfortable if I could cut it in two...

MA    No cutting! It has to be done in one piece, am I understood?

MP   (Looking around the table for support) Yes of course. I’ll sear it just like in Indiana and that’s the truth. (He runs back to the bbq with the beef.)

MA    That’s why you’re here Mike, because we need you to cook it until the inside is a juicy blue red colour.

MP    (Almost choking and looking blue red in the face) Blue red! I can make it red, my Queen but you’re talking to a proud Republican who is all red and cooks red too.

 Everyone in surprise: “Ohhhhhhhhh ohh ahhhhhhh”

Milton    Are you implying that you won’t do blue cold washing laundry cycles? That you avoid looking at the sea or the sky because it’s blue?

Another sound of the gate is heard and the voice of a woman speaks to Virgil. The sound of her approaching footsteps in the darkness approaches slowly. Queen Elizabeth appears wearing a large green hat and walks with a cane.

MA    Queen Elizabeth, I’m so glad you made it!

QE    I’m sorry I’m late Marie, I was so involved with my gospel singing lesson that I completely forgot the time. Have you all finished eating?

MA    Not at all. I’m afraid this dinner is running late and Mike is struggling to bbq the beef.

Milton    Let me shake your hand your highness. It is such an honour to meet you. I’m...

QE    I know who you are John Milton. (Tilting forward with her big hat) Marie told me about all the guests including the one at the BBQ.

Milton    Let me just say it again, “it is an honour”.

TM    It is an honour for me too your highness, and I must say I am impressed that you are taking up gospel.

QE    When Harry married Meghan at Saint George’s Church, I got tuned into that American gospel, I couldn’t believe how they belted out with so much sincerity and love. Mike, you’ll probably like to know I’ve learned a lot from you people – though not exactly you people. And now my gut needs a good stuffing, so where’s the beef Mike?

MP    Coming up soon everyone!

MA    I sure hope so. It’s nearly 11pm. (Then she walks over to the BBQ.) You called that cooked Mike? If this were your election I would say “You are cooked”.

MP    I’m trying Marie, but the fire ain’t as hot anymore. Maybe those rabbit paw bones burnt too fast.

Dante  

Them rabbit paws
Ain’t so bourgoise
I eat them with fork
And Chainsaws.

 Everyone:  Bravo!

TM    That’s what this BBQ needs, more poetry.

Milton  

When Lucifer is hungry
He gets a monkey
To steal a cow from a Greek rugby team.
Then he licks his chops
Viral fire burns in his eyes.

TM    Why Greek?

Milton     I donno. They lost things. The Greeks fell to the Romans, their banks crumbled, didn’t they? Hey Mike, is the beef ready in this millennial or next?

QE    I think Mike’s distracted. He’s been looking at Thomas’ derriere every time he walks by.

MP You got it wrong Queeny. It’s Thomas who’s looking at my hot ass and not the other way around!

Everyone: We want the beef!

TM    So you’re admitting you have a hot ass.

MP   My ass is as red hot as God conceived it.

Milton   My silence can no longer be withheld. Beef or no beef, Queens or no Queens, there is a darkness descending this evening on this very little hunting house in Tuscany.

TM & Dante   I feel the darkness too.

Milton   What frightens me most is when Mike will take the beef off the grill and serve it.

MA   What do you think will happen?

Milton  Blue red blood will spray all over the landscape, all of Italy and then all of the world will be covered with blood!

Dante   Do you mean this beef is percolating like the fires in hell?

QE   Do you expect me to believe that your Lucifer will appear and say, "Not bloody enough?"


TM   Let’s get on with it and cut the bloody thing!

Everyone gathers around as Mike Pence cuts the beef.

MP    This is redder than red Marie.

MA    Yes it’s red, but where’s the blue?  

Dante Such redness reminds me when...  

Milton    Did you hear that?

Everyone is silent, listening.

Milton    It’s an owl in the tree.

TM    Y es I hear it.

MP    Me too.

QE   The last owl we had in Westminster Cathedral flew out from a tree and dropped a bloody mouse right before my white shoes.

MA    What was the occasion?

QE    That was Lady Di’s wedding. I suppose it was an omen. I haven’t told anyone about it for years. It was only half of the mouse, the head was missing.

TM    How horrible! Owls are beautiful but vicious creatures.

MP     Unless you sound like Cardy B.

Everyone: Whaaat?

QE    OK Mike, what’s the point?

Dante You know Cardi B your majesty?

QE    She hot Dante. You would like her.

MP   She says “OKuuuuuurrk!!” Sounds like an owl to me.

QE   She makes a lot of “shmoney” but she sounds more like a turkey if you ask me.

MP   Let’s get Virgil to finish the BBQ, I got a rap song for everyone!

Everyone gets together for the song, Mike takes the lead: (Song attributed to Cadi B (Drip, Feat, Migos)

Came bloody drippin' (drip drip)

Came bloody drippin' (drip drip)

Came bloody drippin' (drip drip)

 Diamonds on my wrist, they drippin'

My cow is drippin' (drip drip)

My cow is drippin' (drip drip)

 She called Santa Mucca (drip drip)

 Fell down the bridge,  drippin' rubies

Came bloody drippin' (drip drip)

Came bloody drippin' (drip drip)

 Came bloody drippin' my meat (drip drip)

 BBQ sauce on my spoon, they drippin'

Came bloody drippin' my meat (drip drip)

Came bloody drippin' meat (drip drip)

Santa Mucca drippin’ (drip drip)

BBQ sauce on my spoon

Give my steak something to remember (Cardi!)

Tryna make BBQ LOVE

Wanna Love my Beef

My Genoa Steak ain't quick to grill

My Genoa steak (go) Grillin’ and flippin'

Weeeeeyoooock!

like a right swipe on Tinder (woo) Tinder is Tender

and so is my steak (woah)

Light up my fire using those rabbit paws (dough)

And my BBQ is flippin'


Chorus: You’re the hottest steak in all of Tuscany 

So hot the perfume got Pinocchio’s puppetry 

You wear your slippers when u BBQ 

It’s cause ya name’s Cardi B 

And you can fuck your tender loins.



Came bloody drippin' my meat (drip drip)

BBQ sauce on my spoon, they drippin'

Came bloody drippin' my meat (drip drip)

Came bloody drippin' meat (drip drip)

Santa Mucca drippin’ (drip drip)

BBQ sauce on my spoon

Give my steak something to remember (Cardi!)

Tryna make BBQ LOVE

Wanna Love my Beef, I don't want it RAW!

My Genoa Steak  ain't quick to grill my Genoa steak (go)

Grillin’ like a right swipe on Tinder (woo)

Tinder is Tender and so is my steak (woah)

Light up my fire using those rabbit paws (dough)



Chorus: Now this steak is so gushy it’s all mushy!

 And the diamonds on her Maserati 

Going yucky she wanna eat that blue red meat (right now baby) 

She wanna eat that blue red meat (that cow had rabies) 

Get down! Fuck ya' Marie Antoinette and dat hair (right now) 

Fuck ya Genoa Bridge and tunnel meat (right now)

 Cardi B gonna take Lucifer to strip 

He gonna drive till he goes “drip, drip drip”


 My beef ain’t gushy or mushy Cause I’m Cardi B, an don’t ya touch my tushy!

End of Play

Departures (A nod of recognition to Ginsberg's "Howl")

I saw the best minds of generations
War time scholars who
Arrested students for a comma or a pronoun.

Intellectual monkeys who
Mocked those who played and
Graffitified Racism under bridges

Yakyaking -almost nasal- in brightly lit
Florescent Institutions
Undressing Shakespeare, Poe and Dante like
Dancers in a strip joint

Estatic no-drama lovers
Stewing in theology
Dreaming of an unknown vegetable

A spy, a tweet, a bloody nose.

I saw a wise fringe heading East and West
Howling like a train
Trapped between
The conscious and the unconscious

A fringe of culture and hair
A rocket smoking
Tears of accomplishment.