Canned Laughter

he went into the safe house with every intention of
working it out, eating sardines out of cans
and drinking water from the tap

with velcro bodyguards to save him
from carpal tunnel and polarized mirror shades
to protect his eyes from the glare of the screen
he would perfect his virus to get back at the world
for their suggesting that he bit the heads off
live chickens

give the glass-teat suckers the what-for

but in the days and weeks that followed
much changes 
   the world laughed
and when the time came
to release his virus to the wild
it had become obsolete
   ground away
   left behind
   electron choked

as had he
the human race
everything turned a pale shade of gray
with the tonesmeared opened up
a can of worm-
holes, baby.


WC Roberts  WC Roberts's website lives in a mobile home up on Bixby Hill, on land that was once the county dump. The only window looks out on a ragged scarecrow standing in a field of straw and dressed in his own discarded clothes. WC dreams of the desert, of finally getting his first television set, and of ravens. Above all, he writes.

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