Long Mysterymagic Poems

At 10:00 P.M. On Tuesday In November, There Are No Attractive Women In Walmart

Though the same might well be said for the men,
My brain is not on autopilot for them.

     On a hunt for portable heat through a whipping wind
     I approach the glow of our collective cornucopia
     Out there in the dark, along with the other faithful worshippers
     Of hopeful abundance,
     There to sort amongst the tuefelsdrock
     For the answer to my present need.

On the way through the magical self-opening doors of this temple
I reflect, for no good reason,
On the fact that if this were any moment in 99.9% of our past
I would be swiftly, fearfully gathering sticks while fearfully watching
For hungry eyes in the darkness,
Then running for my life back to the familiar squalor of the cave.

I rummage through the temple and find my portable firepit,
And stand cradling it in line with the other faithful,
Awaiting my turn to exchange the promise in my magic card
For my right to bear this bit of magic home.

And as I wait I look over the current legend sheets of our tribe,
Prominently displayed, which declare that mermen live in the waters of Florida,
Yea, and that beings from the distant stars walk unseen amongst us.

And I scan with my hunter's unresting eye and see 
That indeed, the outliers of my tribe seem to be in a most unseemly condition.

     But that's how it goes for the desperate little hairless apes.
     There's naught to be done for it, so I take the successful fruit of my hunt
     Back to my cave, oh mighty hunter I,
     Where I shall light the fire with magic
     And settle with my mate in grateful renewed security
     And listen to the wind howl as I chase sleep beside her
     And listen to the wind howl
     And howl

    And howl.