Anti-Poem - Dry Ice and Cologne

a blue chevy impala basks in a suburban driveway like a beached whale it oozes gases and black oils its seeping white walls beg for rubber movements little boy inside the house sits on a pleated couch he watches the setting sun through a screen door fat mother stirs pudding in a wall-papered kitchen smoking father works a tv guide crossword puzzle he flicks white hot dust into a crystal glass ashtray the corner television set transmits black and white cathode rays of a half-naked wrestler pinned down the destroyer with mask on lifts his victorious arms little boy hears calliope music in the green distance the ice cream man comes with dry ice and cologne still three blocks away he makes another long stop fat mother fries bloody meats in a fiery blue skillet she turns on boss radio to hear elvis sing the blues little boy goes to the admiral and turns the channel bishop sheen appears in black cursing the darkness skipper frank implores the kids to brush after meals tennessee tuxedo chases tiger tornado to megapolis smoking father finishes a tv guide crossword puzzle the ice cream man arrives with dry ice and cologne