Tripping the light fantastic and watching it skid face-first thru the gravel. Dirty tricks in the boy’s room. Grudge matches without striking flint. Michigan without Flint. Detroit without cars. Game-show hosts with nickel-plated knee caps. As fast as it seems things are going, they’re just three feet off the launch pad.
Pad the expense account, your suit-jacket shoulders, your floppy loose bra. Don’t go crying to mama, do you think she’s got time to raise you?
There was a time every phone had a cord, every TV a test pattern, every weapon a failsafe.
Here little Dutch boy, stick your thumb in this dike.