Poem Put for No Particular Reason in the Shape of a Tiffany Lamp

Let me be clear.
I’m very pleased at being here.
That I could walk through the voluptuous
discomfort of the streets of this sweet city’s sodden
fat humidity, imagining the air conditioning at home and what
transgressive pleasure it will be to turn the sound off on my phone
and contemplate the pro’s and con’s of cheddar cheese adorned with
onion (thinly sliced) or Pepperidge Farm bread (white and lightly

toasted) as the frame for Skippy peanut butter (smooth) and
seedless Smuckers’ jam (raspberry) – well, it’s more than very
good. It is the metaphoric wood from which my cross is made,

from which I gloriously
plan to hang

as long
as
it
will
hold me. Please
don’t scold
me.

.