mmmdcxlv

Finished That Fucked Up Fill In The Blank
(Which Is Made Okay by the End Thanks
to Allusions to Huey Lewis and Some
Fantastic News)

finished that fucked up
month. we’ll start with
that whipcrack of finality.
with a crack that whip!

kerack that wipp! so,
dear buggy june, you’re
finished. death number
one. next up, herr devo,

half dead, but never at a
loss for those that are still
living, or how to take a
bit of pleasure away from

them by giving it to them
like a shot in the dark, we
add step on a crack! and
break your poor mama’s

back? no, no, not to wor
ry, hunny, it’s just her neck,
so she’s stuck in the car 
for the rest of the month. 

at least until she’s somehow
dragged to the icu at break
neck speed. this dark one,
my dear, is to, now listen

carefully here, prep for the
blazing glory coming at us
like ballbusters (the good
kind, mind you) way soon

er than you can shake a
tail feather at it. but don’t
you dare refuse to shake
those feathers – and every

last one of them – let them
flutter like the sexual signif
icance of a hundred-thous
and butterflies while i re

main stock still, maybe
a feather or two blowing in
the breeze, but not a breath
floating into or out of my

lungs as my eyes lunge at
the shaking you do so very
well. tail feathers duly shaken!
finished (but this time, just

for the moment, don’t make
me get down on my hands
and knees because) my
breath – done – thanks to

my achy breaky backbone.
how it got so achy and so
breaky i’ll never know. but
it most assuredly was not in

any of the good ways, of that
you can be assured. back.
finished. check. oh, and
second booster shot, check,

because, check, i’m ancient.
all but finished. not all butt.
but i promise to keep those
jokes going until the rest of

me is kaput, as well. and
as for the luxury boost num
ber two? it’s finished, too.
as is the next 24 hours of

the most horrible case of
non-covid covid imaginable,
by this dwarf star approach
ing twilight. star, finito.

universe, eradicated. how
is that for no need for ano
ther calendar, ever? calen
dars, au revoir. supernova,

hello! but it’s too early to
introduce our hero, the
supernova, just yet, be
cause a week and a half

after that 2nd booster
(because, yes, i’m approach
ing twilight, remember?),
i get my second case of

actual covid. which lasts
about 6 days. but, and
yes, thankfully, that after-
the-booster duster-upper

is over, is still the real deal,
which is actually more like 

the 24-hour, after-the-second-

booster version, only with the

intensity divided by how
manyeverdays the real
deal lasted. so, still,
stuck in bed like a

finnish whale, if
there are such
things (which
is just another

way to say
finished, right?), 

and just to back
track, that 24-

hour poser had me
mumbling inconceivably
and shivering uncontrollably
through a very, very long night.

which is (thank goodness,
and in unison:) FINISHED,
as well! so what does that
leave us with? why, the

supernova, of course! but
not before that real deal,
that second bout, and just
(as it should be, at least

in my world) as it comes, less 

than two weeks after that second
booster (because i’m so finished.
aren’t i finished.  it is finnish.  it

is NOT finished). oh, but that
first day of the second bout
with the real deal really put
a dramatic finish to my first

working gig, and a positive
one at that, since being laid off
off, left for dead almost, way back
when the whole pandemic began.

unemployment, finished! un
employment, back again! no
thing’s logical, is it? it’s enough
to make you wanna say take that

world, just finnish me off! zap that
positronic into pessimisto! also, and

haha, bout number 2 arrived on my
last official day of the contract job,

which was two days after i turned
55 (3 days after finishing 54).  so
the AARP’s also a thing i’d also love
to say is finished, but just can’t in

good or veritable conscience do,
so, yeah, goodbye, farewell, auf 

weidersehen fifty-four, covid
booster number 2, covid booster

number 2 reaction from hell,
covid the real deal part two,
a nice new job, another june and

(if only) all the havoc brought on

by all of that. and a big hello
to what, to fifty-five. and to
that supernova, of course.
that monstrous wonder

created by the end of ends,
so to speak. and to my brain,
my unemployed brain, which 

may not even remember such

simple numbers after the rush 

of a dying dwarf star in such 

slow motion (seemingly, right? 

but isn’t there always hope?).

and before i can even say
go go finito! there’s some
thing of a rumble coming.
that’s right, the glory of

heaven awaits. i’ve never
been through a supernova,
but I say the prognosis is
a hundred percent. uh huh!

and the year isn’t over yet. not 

by a long shot, i bet. just ask 

the previous seven years (that’d be
something like 84 months, yeah?

so maybe just ask them, if either
can be tracked down and queried.),
because, believe it or not,
and you heard it here first:

nothing’s gonna stop the
smooth san francisco
spring, come august, 
september or october . . . .

well. something’s coming.

so heart of hard hearts don’t
fail me now. because the
beat is on! the beat is o-o-o-on!

oh, huey, don’t stop there.
your news is so good. huey
just said the beat is on. just
you wait, he adds. and we’re not—

i’m not—talking anymore

about it. not gonna jinx
this minx of a late summer
(or autumn) treat, i tell ya.

the beat is on. and i’m not
just talking the heart of

rock and roll (although
its prognosis seems fine;

just nothing quite as

spectacular as it used to be, 

isn’t that right?). so you 

might as well sing along:

ah, it, dit, dit, dit, dit do-wap!
don’t look quite now, i mean. be

cause it’s not yet happening. (and 

should i even tell you when it is??!)