Except by Balloon Summer of 2021
Yes, it’s been two years since my last physical,
Dr. Li. With the pandemic, public transportation
the way it is, and being retired, I just ballooned.
Grew fat that is: ballooning is on my bucket list—
imagine over the Grand Canyon or even Queens.
You must have had it rough, add being Chinese.
Sure, of course: you had to make more referrals
to psychiatrists. Me? Just the usual: drinking
way too much and insomnia. I could be more…
productive. It’s a lonely struggle with the when,
the how, of course the big why. Who cares
about poetry, especially when it gets political—
when all comes down to I have mine, get lost,
the world is ending soon anyway. And here
comes legalized marijuana to New York City!
The kids are saving up their allowances for that.
Will add a whole new dimension to dumbing
down, putting down, keeping down a generation.
Sure, I know I should stop drinking. I know it’s
killing me. I ask who will come to my funeral?
I’d like it to be on an island no one can reach,
if not by a giant carnival hot air balloon. But
will that ride really matter to me then? Who?
