Crazy

Crazy

I find crazy in the damnedest places,
in my yogurt, as a lump
in the middle of my quilt,
in the left sleeve of my ribbon shirt,
in Bledsoe’s breakfast,
borrowed from Bing,
copied from Yahoo,
behind my hiking boots,
on the shelf right between
NIGHT AT THE OPERA and
A DAY AT THE RACES,
while reading William Burroughs,
or Hunter S. Thompson, or Phillip K. Dick,
in the cat box, in Taffy’s dog house
three years after she left us weeping,
holding her while she received the
prick of death, in the dusty jewelry box
I inherited from my stepfather that never
has held any bling, in the plain brown
envelope that holds the last note
my mother wrote before
she went to the hospital,
and in every production shot
of every theatrical play
I boldly appeared in.

Glenn Buttkus

November 2010

Listed as #44 over on Magpie Tales 74 .  Submitted in July 2011.

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